


East of Eden

by jennajuicebox



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 63,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4507092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennajuicebox/pseuds/jennajuicebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My father is next to me, his shoulder presses against mine. I feel the warmth radiating against me, a warmth I only associate with him. I can smell woodsmoke from the distant district, mixing with the heavy scent of stagnant water from the lake. The smell is so familiar, so very welcome, it screams of home. My father stares out at the lake in silence. I try to speak to him, the words on the tip of my tongue. He turns and looks at me, a grave look in his eyes. “Quiet now, my sweet girl.” He turns back to lake, watching fog rolling off of it in waves a loon gives a mournful cry somewhere in the distance. “Its going to snow.” I say with a small smile “I can smell it.” He gives a smirk at this with the shake of his head.</p>
<p>	“You always could.” he responds pulling me closer to him, I rest my head against his chest, like I am a child again. </p>
<p>	“You said you'd always save me.” I say into his jacket, shutting my eyes tight, my world spinning violently around me.</p>
<p>	He quiets me with a kiss to the forehead “shhh,” he comforts “its time to rest.” </p>
<p>	“You can't save me now, can you?” when he looks at me the expression he wears breaks my heart</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the Hunger games.

And just like that I am staring at a sink covered in blood. My hands are trembling and my throat is tight, my breathing is rapid. I stare at my wrist, covered in crimson for a long desperate moment before frantically searching for a towel and wrapping it around my wrist. I take a shaky breath and slowly sink to the floor, taking in the morning light as it streams in through the window, it catches the dust as it dances slowly to the floor. I press the towel tighter, feeling the slickness against my skin under the rough fabric. 

That's when I hear him, The shovel scraping against the hard dirt. My eyebrows furrow together curiously, but I make no effort to move. I listen, cocking my head to the side, I try to figure out the noise. I sigh finally, curiosity getting the best of me. I pulled to towel back, the bleeding has slowed. I stand and turn the water on, watching it wash the red from the stark white porcelain for a moment before dipping my wrist under the cool water. I pull a bandage from the cupboard under the sink and wrap myself up sloppily. 

Years of being among the trees has given me a hunters grace and my feet do not give me away as I make my way down the stairs, sticking to the shadows as I pad slowly to the door. I crack the door gently, the noise grows in my ears and my eyes squint against the bright sun. I suddenly realize I'm not sure how long it is since I have been outside. I take a tentative step, slipping from the safety of my home. Everything is louder out here, more vivid. I am desperate to return to the muted light of the house. The scraping noise has stopped, been replaced by a softer noise. I slip down the front steps and my bare feet touch the grass and I wince at the cool blades resting between my toes, as I round the corner I stop short. I have to fight the urge to turn on my heel and run, Instead I slip back to the shadows against the house, silently pressing my back against the wall. He has yet to notice me, his azure eyes fixed on the plants he has just set in the ground, blonde eyelashes catching in the sunlight. 

 

My brain is racing, my breathing shallow and quick, suddenly I am too aware of what I must look like, I want to undo my braid and run my fingers through it, but I do not dare move. His eyes look older, like some of the blue has been drained out. His plain white tee shirt and soft black pants are covered in dirt. He smiles to himself and runs his hand through his hair as he stares at the plants. Suddenly I am seething with a deep resentment, how dare he come here and smile like that, like he isn't a ghost of his old self. I take a large step out of the darkness, he catches the movement as I open my mouth to speak. His smile fades quickly, and we both freeze. 

I'm not sure how long we stay that way, time hasn't had much meaning for me since I've come back to district 12. He meets my eyes timidly, finally he makes the first move. His hand reaches out for me, and pauses slightly, I can't tear my eyes away from his, so blue, so empty. My knees threaten to give way, he sees the slight turn of my feet. His eyes grow wide when he sees the white bandage on my wrist, the red slowly seeping through it. I hide it timidly behind me. I roll up onto the balls of my feet. He takes a step toward me.

 

“Katniss, please.” he breathes, barely a noise at all, that's all it takes. I run. I am sobbing by the time I am at the top of the stairs, wiping my face with the palm of my hand. I choke back the tears and I fling my bedroom door open and reach for the safety of my closet. I crawl inside suddenly I am so tired, I can barely hold my eyelids open. I wrap my legs in a sweater and lay my head down against the floor. I listen for his heavy footfalls downstairs, maybe he will say my name again, but he doesn't. Nothing but the quiet I am accustomed to.

I'm not sure how long I have been asleep, but the light under my closet door is dim. I slowly climb out from beneath the sweater and stretch out my sore, stiff muscles. I stare down at my bandaged wrist, hoping it had been a bad dream. I sigh when I discover its still there, the bandage crusted with dried blood. Shame fills me slowly, spreading like a stain. Sae is downstairs I can hear her. She smiles at me as I walk slowly toward the kitchen, she hands me a bowl of stew. I say nothing, as usual. She cuts me a slice of bread and hands it to me, her eyebrows raised slightly. If she noticed the bandage she says nothing. I stare stoically at it, I know he made it, it's written all over her face. 

“How long has he been back?” I ask, clearing my throat, I realize that I am not sure how long its been since I've spoken.

“He arrived on the train yesterday,” she looks at me a long time, “Eat.” she orders after a moment. I take a small spoonful, and shove it in my mouth. Suddenly, I am starving. I quickly begin dipping my bread in the stew, letting the broth drip down my chin. She smiles and pats my shoulder as she leaves. After my food is gone I stay sitting at the table until darkness envelops me. Buttercup rubs against my leg after awhile. I look down at him, I think of kicking him for a moment, angered at the intrusion. Instead I lean down and scratch behind his ear. He purrs for an instant then darts away. 

I am alone again, my fingers tracing patterns in the wood table. Suddenly I am reminded that this is the same table we laid Gale on when he was whipped. I feel sick to my stomach, pushing my chair back violently I stand clumsily. I walk slowly up the stairs and pause in the doorway of my room. My room smells stale, the bed sheets rumpled, the door to the bathroom is closed. I cross the room and lay down, pressing my face against my cool pillow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just like that, its as if she has never left. She sits across from me at the table. Her smile is just as bright, hair just as blonde. She wears a soft dress that flows around her and rests at her knees. I drink her in like water. I reach for her and she sighs. Tears fall down my face freely, I have ached to see her. I dare to speak, my voice coming out tight and hoarse.

“Prim.” she smiles wider, giving a small giggle. My fingers can almost touch her, I am desperate for her warmth. “Prim,” I begin again, my voice a little more steady. “Where have you been?”

 

“Don't you remember?” she gently rebukes, her smile slowly fading. I would do anything to bring it back. I shake my head though I know what she is about to say, I say it to myself everyday. “you killed me.” she states softly. My hand wraps around my mouth as I choke back a sob.

My hand is just wrapping around her shoulder as she begins to dissolve slowly into ash and blood. I am crawling across the table to hold her as she fades. My clothes covered in the soot that used to be my baby sister. I run my fingers through her hair as she screams, holding her as ash and blood pour from her eye sockets, her mouth, her nose. All too soon her screams are gone. Its just me on the floor, next to an overturned chair, rocking back and forth. The ash from my sister threatening to choke me.

 

~~~~~~

 

I awaken in a pool of sweat, my throat hoarse from screaming. My eyes dart wildly around the room as I shove my knees up to my chest. My hands tremble as I try to catch my breath. The air is hot and muggy, I slowly get up and force the window open, the cool night air feeling good on my sticky skin. I stare out at the stars for a moment, wondering why they dare show themselves anymore. How could they after she was taken from me? Why would they even bother? 

I look out at the houses around me, they loom in the night, stark and cold, Even Haymitch's house seems to empty. Then, I steal a glance at his house. His bedroom light is on, I am tempted to cross the lawn. Look into his eyes and say the things I have practicing in my head. Somehow, they seem stupid now. All of the “I've missed you's.” and “I love you's.” they won't fix any of this, nothing will heal us, nothing will make this better. 

 

My bedside clock reads 4:30, the old Katniss would be already out the door and halfway to the meadow. I turn my light on and stare down at my wrist. The bandage is stained copper. I gently try to pry it from my skin but its stuck into the wound. I sigh, frustrated and pad gently to the bathroom. I turn on the tepid tap water and sneak a glance into the mirror for the first time since I returned from the capitol.

What a sight I was. My hair was matted deeply and wild around my face. My bones jutted sharply against my skin, giving my eyes a deep set appearance. The shapeless shift dress hung off my bony shoulders limply. Soft pink scars lick their way up my neck. My eyes held a hollowness I had never seen before. The most surprising thing was how much of her I saw in me. Before, I didn't think we looked much a like, her hair was soft and flaxen, a slight wave curling it around her shoulders. Her skin pale as moonlight, freckles spraying her nose. I see her now though, and it catches my breath in my throat. There she is, beneath my olive skin. The way my cheekbones curve slightly, the shape of my lips. She is in the way my face is rounded. 

 

I turn off the tap water before I change my mind, I turn to the tub and begin drawing a lukewarm bath. Pouring sweet smelling oil into the clean water. I strip off my dress that is covered in sweat and grime, I kick it away from me. I don't dare a look to the mirror now, not wanting to risk seeing the pink snaking scars across my stomach and back. 

I lower myself into the cool water slowly, wincing as it covers my still tender scars. It takes me nearly an hour to pull the tangles from my hair and scrub the flakes of skin from my collarbone. I step out of the water and find a towel in the cupboard. I stand in front of my closet, staring longingly at the different dresses and soft materials that have Cinna's touch all over them. I finger a dark green dress made of soft silk. Before slowly thumbing through the hangers until I find a plain navy tank top and soft black pants. I lace my boots up my legs, and find my fathers jacket where I left it, tucked away under my bed. I bring it to my nose, sucking in the smell of the woods before sliding the familiar leather over my shoulders. I braid my hair down my back and stare at my door for a long moment. 

“Okay,” I breathe to myself “Now what?”

 

By the time I have talked myself downstairs Greasy Sae is making eggs and biscuits, her granddaughter plays in the living room with a rag doll. She happily chatters to herself, I can't help but crack a small half smile at her as she looks up at me with a wide grin.

“Morning dear.” Greasy Sae says, her back to me. As she turns holding a skillet, she can't help but pause slightly, taking in the sight of me, bathed and brushed. She smiles faintly, “Look at you,” she whispers softly. 

“It seemed like a good day for a walk.” I answer weakly.

 

I step out into the morning and am stifled by the summer heat. It seems like my hair is sticky before I reach my lawn. I make my way across to the side of the house where I had seen Peeta planting. When was it? Just yesterday? Somehow it seems like so much longer. I finger a leaf softly and it hits me like a truck. Primroses. Prim. I struggle to keep my breathing normal. I look around careful, the victors village is quiet, no one is out on the paths on this hot day. I turn back to the plants and pull the leaf off. I press it to my lips and smile. When I do it feels like a betrayal, to myself, to her.

 

I tuck the leaf into my pocket and slip out of the village, not looking at his house, I am not ready to see him just yet. People openly stare at me as I walk through the town. They stop whatever they are doing and straighten themselves to watch me take in the destruction around me in awe, as ash catches in my dark, straight braid. A group of children nearly barrel into me as they run through a patch of grass near where the Hob once stood. They stop short and stare at me, I stare back unabashed. Some look like me, the clear Seam look, One girl has hair bright as fire, and emerald green eyes. They look somewhat afraid, but there is something else too, I can't put a finger on it. As I turn to leave I hear a faint whisper. “That was the Mockingjay.” 

I don't venture into the woods, but I make my way to the fence, staring out at the freshly churned earth. I start to feel the choking sobs rise in my throat and turn to leave. I see people staring. I wonder what they could possibly be thinking. I shake my head as I chase the thought away. I begin to run, until my throat is flaming with thirst and my lungs ache.

 

I've made it back to my house before noon, and I see him sitting on his porch. He is scribbling in a journal. He doesn't look up at me, I stand in my yard awkwardly, wondering when he will notice me. After a moment of debating back and forth with myself I trudge over to him, feeling angry that if he had noticed me he hadn't thought it was important enough to speak. I know it is unfair that I am angry, but most everything makes me angry these day.

I stop at the foot of his stairs, he still is writing furtively in his journal. I place my hands on my hips and almost move to leave. What am I doing here? I bite my lip, and step forward. 

“Hello,” I start quietly, my eyes looking everywhere but him. Finally, my eyes rest on his face. He is wearing an expression of wonder, staring at me like I might not be real. My heart flutters as he drops his pen and leather bound book, standing and stepping gruffly off his porch. His fingers reach out to touch my face, I take a small step back, he brings his hand back to his side. 

“Its you,” he says, “real or not real?”

 

“Real.” I whisper and he smiles as if he knew the answer all along. 

 

“You look,” He stops short, as if searching for the right word, “beautiful.” I snort somewhat disdainfully.

“Yeah, these scars are really captivating.” I mumble sarcastically. He shakes his head sadly for a moment. Then looks up at me from beneath his eyelashes. 

“What are you doing?” I ask, nodding toward the journal he left sitting on his chair.

“Writing down my thoughts, it's part of my therapy.” we stand there awkwardly for a few moments, taking in the sight of each other. His eyes trail down my arm, looking for the bandage I had replaced on my cut. “What happened to your wrist?” he asks like he doesn't want to know the answer.

“Does it matter?” I bite my voice rising. I don't like the way he is looking at me. It makes me feel open and exposed, like a small child. Anger is swelling inside of me. He deflates, running his hand through his hair he lets out a long, drawn out sigh.

“Of course it does Katniss.” His eyes are on the ground now, his fingers still tangled in his hair he begins to tug on it gently, visibly frustrated with me. 

I can't think of the words to tell him the truth so I lie. “I cut it on a knife doing the dishes.” I sputter out weakly. He doesn't believe me, I can see it in the way his eyes grow sharp. He looks like he wants to yell at me, but he looks straight into me, his eyes staring sharply into mine. I can't help but think he must be looking into my very soul. I wonder what he will find there, if there is anything left in there at all. 

 

 

“Keep telling yourself that.” he snaps, moving to sit back down, he begins to write in his journal again, pressing the pen so hard against the paper I fear it will snap. He has dismissed me, I look around for a moment, wondering if I should try to speak again. I open my mouth, thinking about an apology, I am not sure how to form the words, so I begin to walk to my house. I count the steps to keep from crying. I shut the door with more force than is necessary. I lock it tight and slowly turn sliding down the cold wood. Tears pouring silently down my face.


	2. Chapter 2

Playlist: Skinny love by Bon Iver  
Welcome home, son by Radical Face  
Chasing Dragons by Gemma Hayes

 

I stay in bed for the rest of the day. My blankets covering my head as I try to shut out all of the thoughts in my brain. I don't feel the heat or the cold. I don't sleep, I just lie there trying to even my breathing. I feel broken and lost, but mostly I am angry at Peeta. How dare he come back and just think that everything would be fine? I mean, what did he expect? 

Every once and a while a tear escapes my eye, I don't move to touch it, I just let it roll down to my chin. After what could have been minutes or hours I hear a faint rustling downstairs. Greasy Sae must be back to cook. I stand slowly, I am still in my clothes, right down to my boots. I make my way downstairs, not eager for the company, I am surprised to hear hushed whispers over the sound of something crackling in a pan. 

“I thought maybe she felt better today, I guess not.” Greasy Sae whispers.

“Well, I am sure seeing the boy stirred her up quite a bit, I know it did him.” Haymitch responds. I slip down the stairs unnoticed. Haymitch is rifling through my cabinets and Greasy Sae cooks bacon on a skillet. I stand in the shadows, unmoving, I could remain this way for hours and they wouldn't notice me. One of the benefits of living among the trees. 

“He says she's been hurting herself.” Greasy Sae starts, her gray eyes downcast. Haymitch snorts indignantly. He looks in the cabinet beneath the sink.

“Jackpot,” he mutters flatly, pulling out a bottle of white liquor. He pulls the cork and takes a long swig, shaking his head slightly at the taste before smiling darkly. “The girl is practically catatonic,” he replies turning to look at Sae. “How much more damage could she do?”

I take a shaky step, he sees me and stops short. “Sweetheart,” he smiles “You look like shit.” I raise my fingers to my face self consciously for a moment before my eyebrows knit together angrily.

“I could say the same about you.” I bite before coming to sit at the table. He stumbles to sit next to me. I can smell the liquor radiating from him, mixing with the smell of his body and unwashed clothes. We sit for a long minute, not speaking. Finally angry curiosity gets the best of me. “What makes him think he could just come back here and talk to me like that?” I sputter, fuming. Tears threaten to spill over, down my face, I bite my cheek so hard I taste blood. Haymitch stares out in the distance for a moment, his eyes unseeing.

“Think about it Sweetheart,” He replies, his voice flat. “where else is he going to go.” He turns to face me. “For once, why don't you try being nice to that boy, he's lost just as much as you.” I stare down at the table, refusing to look up at him.

There is so much I want to say in that moment. I know. And He reminds me of her. Won't change the way I acted and probably will act again. So as I stand I look at him wearily. “Go sleep it off, Haymitch.” I mutter before climbing up the stairs tiredly. 

The next morning I decide to try the outside again. I sit in my doorway, pressed against the doorframe. I whittle a piece of wood, trying not to think of him and his eyelashes that are impossibly long. Yet, I find myself looking for him, waiting for him to round the corner from his porch. 

 

Eventually he does, the sunlight catching in his hair. His eyes are fixed to the ground. He lifts them timidly as he passes my house. My breathing quickens as he raises his hand to offer a wave. I wave back silently. He stops, it looks as if he is warring with whether or not to come over and speak to me or not. After a second he walks across my yard and stops on the bottom step of my porch.

“I'm sorry Katniss.” he says after a moment. “For the way I spoke to you yesterday.” I swallow my throat sore.

I stare at him for a long time, studying the lines on his face, the way his hair rustled in the wind. He was long overdue for a haircut. His shoulders were still broad, and his chest was still muscular. I bring my eyes back to his face and force myself to look into his eyes. Still the same dark cobalt, same shape, more hollow. I don't speak and he stands there waiting, shifting his weight from his good foot to his bad foot. I just stare, trying to remember everything about him, hold onto it like I won't ever see him again. 

 

“Kat?” he tries again clearing his throat. “I thought maybe if you weren't busy tonight, maybe I could come over? I baked some bread this morning, cheesebuns, your favorite.” I play with a hangnail on my thumb. He lets out another frustrated sigh. “Are you ever going to speak to me again?” he snaps, his voice icy and cold. After a few heartbeats he lets out a huff and turns to walk away, muttering to himself quietly.

“You could come over tonight if you want!” I rush the words out before he could stalk to far away, suddenly panicked about how much distance was growing between us. He stops and turns to look at me, shading his eyes from the sun. 

“Do you really mean it?” he asks, his lips slightly curling upward. I nod once, swallowing my panic down. He turns on his heels and walks toward town. I watch him grow small and slowly disappear from view. 

The rest of the morning I wander around my house aimless, wringing my hands, not sure what to do. Finally I sit on the couch, and stare at the wall until my eyes grow heavy. It's now noon and the sun is high in the cloudless blue sky. I lay down and feel a familiar dread creep through my veins. Sleep usually ends in nightmares and is nothing I look forward to, it is however, inevitable. I allow my eyes to shut letting sleep yank me down in an embrace that is not unlike drowning.

I smell the smoke before I see it. I stings my eyes and lungs. I search around me and find no familiar faces. There is nothing except desolation. Suddenly the ground gives way beneath me and I stumble back to avoid falling into the cavern that has appeared in the middle of the street. Then he is there, so far away, yet so close. A peacekeeper holds him tightly dragging him up a stoop toward a door.

“Gale!” I scream, I know what is going to happen, what always happens. I yank an arrow from my back and pull the string of my bow back taught in one fluid motion. I search for a clean shot, my eyes squinting. He says nothing this time, just stares at me with wide steel gray eyes. I give him a look of apology as his brain puts it together.

“Katniss No!!!” Is all he gets out before my arrow is buried in his chest. His voice is different however. I rush toward him and sink to my knees when I reach the stoop. He isn't Gale anymore. I touch his face, resting my hand in his soft bronze hair.

 

“Finnick.” I sob, leaning my forehead against his chest. I can't help hoping his green eyes would pop open at the sound of my voice and he would look like he did on his wedding day, whole and happy.

“Katniss.” a voice says from behind me. Prim, I turn to look at her. Her face is distorted, angry. “Katniss wake up!” she shouts.

“Katniss, please wake up.” his voice is shaky, his eyes worried as I let out a tearful sob. “Katniss? Don't worry it was just a nightmare, it's okay.” I clamp my arms around his neck. He rubs soft circles into my back. 

I stay that way for a long time, listening to his heart fluttering beneath his clothes. I have heard it a thousand times over the past two years, it still never ceases to amaze me, how steady it was. 

“I'm sorry.” I mutter finally, wiping the tears from my face. He smiles a little sadly.

 

“No need to be sorry Katniss,” he breathes out. “I get them too.”

He slowly stands and walks to the kitchen, pulling various items out of the cupboards and fridge. Every once and while he steals a glance at me while he cooks. I suddenly feel very self conscious, I cross my arms in front of my chest and cross my knees under the table. If he notices the motion he doesn't say anything. 

We eat in silence, somewhat awkwardly. Neither one of us sure what to say or do. Are spoons are scraping the bottom of our bowls when I finally clear my throat to speak.  
“Thank you for dinner.” truth is, I barely tasted it. “It was lamb stew, right?”

“Well, technically it was squirrel stew.” he fidgets nervously, sitting up slightly straighter in his chair. “Not much call for lamb here.”

“Right.” I sputter, after a beat of silence I murmur. “How long have I been back in 12?”

 

He smiles, his eyes not meeting mine. “Six weeks and two days.” I nod, my birthday had come and gone, funny that I didn't notice. I count in my head the weeks, it must be mid June.

“What do you plan to do now?” I am feeling a bit braver now with my questions. If he is offended he hides it well.

“Not too sure, I've been thinking about opening my families bakery again, but...” he trails off his voice barely a whisper.

“That'd be nice.” I encourage weakly. Truth is, I am not sure what to say. My tongue seems perpetually stuck in my cheek. Katniss Everdeen has never been good with words. I focus on listening to him breathe, the gentle rhythm calms me as I feel panic rising in my throat, for no good reason, really. 

Then it happens, I am not prepared for it in the least. Not prepared for Peeta's eyes to go blank and his muscles to tighten. I am not prepared to see his face contort and his jaw to tighten unnaturally. His breathing is shallow and quick. He jerks upright, his chair sliding out from underneath him and falling with a crash to the floor. I stand and back away from the table against the wall slowly, as if he is snake in the grass. His eyes are fixed to the floor, staring unseeing at some imaginary enemy in the hardwood. When he looks up at me I feel the fear rising in my throat. All of that hatred, anger and fear in boring into me. I can't look away. 

“Mutt.” he spits, all of the venom in his voice washes over me. I slowly slide down the wall, tears silently pouring down my face. The table is flipped in one fluid motion. I had forgotten how strong he was. The noise is deafening and I cover my ears with my hands to silence it. I rock back and forth rhythmically and count in my head. One, two, three, four. “Filthy mutt!” he screams louder this time. He is right in front of me in a moment, hands grasping my shoulders tightly. I let out a small whimper, more out of fear than pain.

“Peeta, Peeta please, come back. Peeta come back!” I sob, grabbing each side of his face in my palms. “Peeta baby, come back to me.” I whisper. After a long second he does, his pupils slowly return to normal. His hands loosen. He stares at my face a long moment before he leans back to sit from his crouched position in front of me. I wipe my face with the backs of my hands quietly, choking back sobs. We are silent for what feels like hours.

 

“I'm so sorry.” his voice cracks, his fingers reach out to touch the bruises blossoming on my shoulders. I involuntarily cringe away from his grasp. He chokes back a sob. “Katniss, I hurt you.” his face contorts with pain. 

“I've had worse.” I say flatly managing a small, closed lipped smile. We are silent for a long time. He rests his head between his hands. “Peeta,” I manage a soft whisper. “Peeta, look at me.” small tears have worked their way down his face, making his skin blotchy and red. 

“Peeta,” I start, but my words fade, I can't think of anything to say to erase the look of pain from the creases of his face.

“Katniss,” he mumbles, “How are we suppose to do this?” his voice is full of desperation and hurt. “How are we suppose to go on living?” I have nothing, I'm not sure of the answer myself. So I crawl forward on my hands and knees until I am sitting next to him. I timidly reach for his hand and grasp it tight. My head finds the crook between his shoulder and neck. I breathe in his warmth and try to remember the old, not so broken Peeta. He touches the end of my braid, letting it fall through his fingers. He turns so his nose is resting on the top of my head and he takes in a long deep breath. I can't help but think how different we use to be. How alike we are now, how we are each trying to hold each other at arms length while also needing each other to be close. His breathing is unsteady, he leans into me, his forehead resting against mine. I can see it in his eyes, the way he leans forward. I swallow hard and begin to lean away. He shuts his eyes, if he is frustrated with me for denying his kiss he doesn't let me know. Instead. He smiles.

“I've missed you Kat.” he manages, looking at our hands intertwined tightly.

“I've missed you too, Peeta.” I whisper. My voice trembling slightly. “I've missed you so much.” he touches the bandage on my wrist softly.

“Can I stay here and hold your hand for a while?” he asks, not looking me in the eye. “Please?” he adds, his voice cracking slightly.

“Yeah,”I say as I hold his hand tighter. When I smile, it's a genuine smile, the first since Prim died. “I'd like that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am exhausted and sore. My lips are chapped painfully. I don't have room in my head for all of this sadness and sickness. I shut my eyes tight and its almost like shutting out the world.

Play list:   
First day of my life – Bright eyes  
Coconut Skins- Damien Rice  
My Boy builds coffins – Florence and the machine   
If the Hudson overflows – Goldspot

 

I am fighting for air, my lungs cursing and spitting. My feet search for hold against the slick rocks at the bottom of the lake but they find no purchase. My hands flail uselessly against the frigid water. If I could just push off the ground, I would be back in the warm sunshine, sucking in lungfuls of the sweet summer air. I could be back home in an hour, sitting on the porch with Buttercup and Haymitch, watching the sun sink into the mountaintops. I feel myself tiring and dread fills my blood stream, its only a matter of seconds now, and I will be swallowed by water. I can only reach up helplessly and stare as I sink. Watching the Safety of the sun and air and sky from beneath.

I am drowning, no use fighting anymore. My muscles are sore and I am so tired. I could close my eyes so easily and think of Prim. Forget the suffering in my lungs, the weariness of my bones. 'just shut your eyes' a voice says from within me. I could focus on her and the shape of her fingernails. I could remember what it was like to see her smile, a dimple forming in her cheek. What did the curve of her neck look like? Did I ever really look at it? I could just live in her memory and forget about the hurt of fighting, forget my heavy eyelids. However, I miss the warmth of the sun. I dare to risk one last glance.

There he is, standing among the moss and sunshine and dirt. He's reaching out to me, shouting what I think might be my name. His voice is distant but clear. I need it, but not like the warmth of the sun. I need it in an entirely different way, I need it like summer breeze. My lungs ache for the life he offers. However, It has been too long. I can taste his name on my tongue, but its too late. My limbs are too heavy. I fall into the dark.

Before oblivion, I swear, he looks straight into me and smiles, his teeth are sharp and pointed as daggers. His blue eyes have shifted to the color of a raven's wing.

 

I awake with struggling breath. My whole body is rigid and stiff. My pillow is drenched in tears. I'm slick with sweat, my bed sheets soaked through. I kick off my blankets tiredly and flip flop in bed for a few minutes before resting my feet on the cool hardwood floor. I feel the heat of the night in my parched throat and struggle to swallow. I wince in pain. My stomach somersaults pathetically. I let out a small whimper and try to stand. My world tilts and crooks to the side violently. My head throbs as it hits the floor.

I let out another small whine, as I push myself up onto my forearms. I see stars in my eyes as I struggle up onto my knees. With every move my muscles scream in protest. I stare at my open bathroom door with longing. I won't make it. I can't make it. Give up. I think with another small whimper. Please. My body begs with everything it has. I set my sights on the bathroom with a dark resolve. I inch myself forward on my hands and knees slowly. My elbows threaten to give way, my arms shaking violently. Half way to the bathroom I lose my dinner. It burns my nose and the bile is bitter against my tongue. 

I keep moving, not bothering to stop each time I throw up. It runs down my shirt and chin. I can't stop shaking and shivering. After what feels like hours, I reach my bathroom door. I am so relieved I almost cry, tears forming beneath my eyes. I lean against the bathtub, exhausted, breathing labored. I turn on the cold shower and climb in limb by limb, forgetting my clothes, letting my head rest against the lip of the tub. I shut my eyes tight, praying the world would stop spinning. I throw up again and let it run down the drain. 

I am sure I am dying. I wonder if it feels like falling asleep. I allow all of the people I loved to enter my mind. I give them my goodbye, one at a time. Rue, Cinna, Finnick, Boggs, My mother, Gale, Prim, Peeta. Even Haymitch has a place there. I cough and sputter, each one makes my head throb. I am so tired. I shut my eyes for a moment. The world is blissfully quiet.

I gasp awake, the world is just coming to life. Birds chirp cheerful in the tree by my window. The sun catches in a cobweb at the corner of my room. My room is a soft butter yellow and warm. A beautiful picture of the silence I live in. The shower still beats on me icy cold. I lift myself up to shut off the stream. My body groans in protest. I fall back against the tub weakly, letting my head slam against the tiles. Suddenly I am very scared. I listen for any noise from below. I listened for Peeta calling my name from the doorway. Or Greasy Sae putting a kettle of tea on the stove. I listened for Haymitch rifling through my cabinets. Nothing. A heartbeat, three heartbeats, nothing. 

“Hello.” I call down feeblely, my voice barely rising above a whisper, though I had tried to shout. “Peeta?” I question if he was ever here at all. I am sure he was just a figment, a ghost, not real. Peeta wouldn't let me die alone. Not real.

“Peeta.” I try again, though I know he isn't here. The water is freezing, my skin is hot. I shut my eyes tight. I decide to talk to him, though he isn't real. “Peeta,” I whisper with a small smile. “I miss my mother.”

 

I sit on the porch, the summer heat enveloping me. The sky is pregnant with dark violet clouds. I am wrapped in a bed sheet, rocking in a chair. My feet barely touch the floor. I shut my eyes tight as the first droplets of rain hit the hot earth. Steam rises as dusk settles over the district. A crack of lightning shatters the peacefulness. A few moments later thunder bellows out a war cry. I let my hair fall around my shoulders as I lean my head back and count in my head.

Sunday is my favorite day of the week, my father is mine today. I can hear him through the open door. His voice lilts gently as he cleans game at the table. Prim plays with his shoes, untying his laces and giggling when he reaches to retie them. My mother stands at the sink and stares out across the yard, watching as the children who played in the neighbors yard darted toward the safety of their own homes. Lost in my fathers song. We are far from peaceful, but we are ours. I can't imagine anything else.

 

My mother catches my eye and smiles. She walks through the house, gravitating closer to my father and touching his shoulder as she passed through. His gray eyes smiled at her gently. She rests her thin frame against the doorframe, watching me intently with her blue eyes.

“Katniss,darling.”

“Hmmmm.” I hum dreamily.

She stares at me wistfully. As if she has something she wants to say to me. Maybe she wants to encase this moment in her memory forever, lock it tightly in that tomb, with the other dead.

“Come in for dinner dear.” she says so softly I fear her voice might break. She turns away from me, she always turns away, all I want is her smile. My father caught her before she can disappear into the living room. He catches her wrist in his rough hand, twirling her along with the song he is singing. His other hand rests on the small of her back. They sway softly in the in-between light of sunset. She rests her head on his chest, he presses a kiss to her starlight hair. 

Her face is turned away from me, I can still tell she is smiling. Her smiles were always saved for him.

 

Someone is shouting my name, but I can't reach them. I try to move my fingers, but I can't so I try to listen to the voice. He is so scared, all I want is to reassure him. I try to bribe my voice back into my throat, all I can manage is a feeble croak. I can hear him sigh with relief as he shuts the water off. 

I open my eyes and his blue eyes meet mine. My bed clothes are sopping, and they drip down the front of his shirt making the dark black shirt darker. I can't speak, but I have the presence of mind to touch his cheek softly. He smiles wide, kissing my forehead. “Thank God, Katniss, I thought you were dead.” He sets me on the floor gently in front of me, inspecting my olive green t-shirt and plain black shorts, both stained with vomit. He presses his fingers to my cheeks. “You're burning up, Kat.” 

“No,” I finally whisper, shaking my head tiredly. “No, I am freezing, please.” I am shivering so hard, I practically convulse in his arms.

“Katniss, it's a fever.” he insists. “lets get you into bed.” He scoops me up and begins to carry me to my bed. I feel it coming, I try to squeeze my eyes shut and will it away. I can't, I vomit down the front of him. I can't help it, my head lolls against him like a broken flower 

 

“I'm so sorry.” I mutter, angry at myself. He shakes his head as he sets me down softly on my bed. My clothing soaks through my blankets. 

“Its okay,” he soothes, wiping my hair from my face. He tries to hide it but he cringes when his fingers brush my skin. I can see the worry rising in his face. “I'm going to see Haymitch about a healer.” He turns to leave, his hand on my doorknob.

I see flashes of light in front of my face. Stilled-images and clips of movement. I see snapshots and more light, too vivid, too bright. There are mutts, and a lot of them, just past the door. I saw their gleaming, white teeth curved up into a sick smile. Finnick was just there. I spin my head around wildly. They killed Finnick, I can't find him. Panic washes over me in waves. I can't breathe. He was just here. Mutts are just beyond that door. Peeta, oh sweet Peeta, No. I know they killed beautiful Finnick, with his sea green eyes and skin that smelled of the sea.

“No!” I manage to shout with all of my strength “Don't go out there Peeta!” I sob trying with all my might to climb out of the bed. “There are Mutts!” I try to stand but my knees give and I fall with a thud to the floor. “Please, please, please.” I beg brokenly. “please, they took Finnick!” I try to make him understand. He looks at me, his expression dripping with sympathy. 

“Katniss, calm down.” he whispers, leaning to pick me up again. He tries to set me down on the bed. I cling to him with everything I have, all of my strength wraps my arms around him like vices.

“Don't go out there,” I plead. “They'll take you from me. If you leave, you'll never come back.” I sniffle. He holds me there a long time before trying to stand again.

“You need fever pills.” I shake my head vehemently. His face is swimming from my view. I feel as if I am falling away.

“Please,” I breathe out, quiet as a whisper. “Please don't leave me.” 

“It will only be a little while.” He promises, as I fall back against my pillow. His words echo against the silence of my house. Only a little while.

 

I sleep for what feels like forever. Peeta comes back sometime later with Haymitch in tow. They both stare down at me like I am a piece of meat. I open my eyes slightly to stare back at them stoically.

“Sure she's not dead?” Haymitch asks bluntly.

“She's not dead.” Peeta snaps back, clearly exasperated. “She needs a healer.” he says flatly, “She's burning.” 

Haymitch stands still for a few moments, debating, then reaches his clammy fingers out to touch my forehead, while taking in a long drink from his bottle.

“Don't touch me with those dirty fingers.” I snap “They smell like geese.” Peeta chuckles to himself as Haymitch, startled, jumps back.

“Geeze Girl, you almost made me spit my liquor!” he exclaims indignantly. 

“That'd be a shame.” I croak hoarsely, my voice barely a whisper. Peeta hands me a glass of cool water, I drink it greedily. 

“Good to see you haven't lost your acerbic wit, sweetheart.” He turns toward Peeta, glowering at him. “I thought you said she was sick.” I begin to cough my water up almost immediately. Haymitch raises his eyebrows, taking another long drink from his bottle.

“ What do I do?” Peeta asks brokenly, looking toward his mentor. Haymitch shrugs and hands him his bottle. 

“Try that.” he muses, with a smug smirk. “Helps all of my ills.”

“I doubt this will work.” Peeta resigns softly. “Booze doesn't fix everything, Haymitch.”

“Says who?” Haymitch quips softly. After a moment of thought he sighs heavily. “Listen boy, there is no healer left in 12.” 

“Somebody has to come see her,” Peeta whispers “They can't just leave her here like this.”

“You could try her mother.” 

“Do you think she'd come?” Peeta asks softly.

“She can send you something maybe.” It says everything I had been dreading. All of my fevered memories, gone. I think of my mother's smiles, pressed into my father's chest. I think of her soft pale hair and her freckles that matched Prim. I think of her apron that I hid beneath as a child. I think of the wild strawberries she would turn into preserves, she'd always slip me one secretly as I sat and watched her from beneath the table. Those years before Prim, before starvation, before my father's death. When I was hers and she was mine, anything else was unthinkable.

I remember to count those memories as I do with my memories of Prim and Rue and Cinna and Finnick. From now on, I count my mother among the dead.

 

I am exhausted and sore. My lips are chapped painfully. I don't have room in my head for all of this sadness and sickness. I shut my eyes tight and its almost like shutting out the world.

“I'll call her mother.” Peeta states with clarity. I feel sleep dragging me down. The fever taking hold of me tightly. It doesn't want to let me go, I don't want it to. 

“Peeta,” I whisper faintly “Peeta, Stay with me.” he can't hear my soft calls. I listen to his footfalls as he disappears out my bedroom door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I watch him sleep for a long time, my lips pressed to my knee. After a while he stirs, his blue eyes searching around suspiciously. When they finally land on me I tilt my head up so my chin is resting against my kneecap, I offer him a half smile. The storm in his eyes seems to calm. “I see you've taken to sleeping on my couch.”

I sleep for what feels like days. I awake sometime in the night, my throat parched, covered in dried sweat and vomit. I make an effort to sit up, my head still pounding. Peeta has just walked in, he stands in the doorway with a mug and a bottle of pills in his hand.

“Good morning, sunshine.” he smiles halfheartedly. He brings over the mug of tea and sets it in next to me on the bed side table. “I was wondering when you would finally wake up.” He hands me the mug of steaming tea. “Drink up.” I look down at it tentatively.

“What kind of tea is it.” I sniff it and cringe, the smell makes my stomach turn. 

“Its something for your stomach, drink it.” I take a sip and swallow quickly. After I fight the initial urge to gag, my stomach seems to calm. He hands me the small bottle of pills. “These are for your fever, take two.” I do as he instructs and I drink down the last of my tea.

“How did you get the fever pills?” I ask, leaning back against my pillow.

“I called your mother and she sent them on the earliest train.” he says tiredly. I feel a pang under my ribs when he says she sent them. I suppose the child in me was disappointed she didn't come herself, Though I knew it would never really happen. 

“She says it's more than likely a stomach virus, and you should stay in bed for at least a few days.” He sits on the edge of my bed carefully, I can tell he is watching my eyes, gauging a reaction. I am not sure what he wants from me, to be happy, or upset. “How are you feeling now?” 

“Still tired, but better, thank you.” He smiles warmly, tucks my blankets up around my shoulders. I am just now adjusting to being awake. I smell baking bread, the light in the hallway is glowing softly. I can hear someone walking around downstairs. I look at him quizzically, my eyebrows knitting together. He smiles and reaches his hand out, touching mine softly with the pad of his index finger. “Haymitch has been keeping me company.” I nod slowly. I am not sure what to do next. Peeta seems enthralled by the skin on my hand, brushing soft circles on my scarred skin. I don't move to stop him but I do stiffen slightly. He straightens after a moment and smiles. “I'll bring you some water.” He stands, leaning over me, he presses his lips into my forehead. My skin is on fire where he has touched me, it freezes me in place as he turns to leave. 

I stay in bed for three days, sleeping mostly, but the rest of my time is eaten by Peeta. He brings me sweet rolls and broth. He reads out of musty books and even paints. I watch him carefully as his brush strokes soft pinks, sea greens and vivid yellows into a sunset over an ocean. Sometimes he talks to me about what he is painting, mostly he is quiet, his eyes locked on some distant place. I take this time to really look at him, without having to worry about being caught. I stare at his pale skin, thick lines of jagged pink licking their way up his neck. His eyes are bright, and dark at the same time, if that is even possible. Still bright blue but there is a deeper dark hiding behind them, making them the color of night some times. 

After the third day I insist on dressing. I come downstairs early in the morning. The dark of night is just starting to fade into a buttery light. I stop short on the second stair when I notice Peeta, curled under a light afghan on the couch, he uses his arm for a pillow. I stop and wonder if everyone looks younger when they sleep. The creases in his face are gone, if it weren't for his scars I would swear the war and rebellion never happened. I make my way down the stairs softly, I avoid a floorboard that usually squeaks. I kneel down next to the couch and hold my breath. I have yet to see him with his shirt off since we've been back in twelve. I reach my hand out to touch him. I trace out a scar on his chest.

I watch him sleep for a long time, my lips pressed to my knee. After a while he stirs, his blue eyes searching around suspiciously. When they finally land on me I tilt my head up so my chin is resting against my kneecap, I offer him a half smile. The storm in his eyes seems to calm. “I see you've taken to sleeping on my couch.”

He sits up slowly, running his hand through his hair. He yawns widely and then smiles somewhat sheepishly. “Uh, yeah, I just wanted to be here in case you needed anything.” I nod, standing over him slowly.

 

We look at each other for a long time. He looks like there is something more that he wants to say. I wait patiently but it seems like his voice is stuck in his throat so I turn to walk away. “Where are you going?” He asks somewhat sadly. 

“I was thinking about another walk into town.” I am shrugging into my jacket as he slips a shirt on over his head. I miss those scars already.

“Oh,” is all he says, his eyes seem stuck to the floor shyly. I open the door, ready to step out into the heat. Buttercup lays sunning himself on the porch, I can't help but smile down at the ugly cat. After a beat, there is a cool breeze. I turn to Peeta quickly. 

“Would you, um,” I stutter out pathetically, “Would you like to come with me?” His face immediately brightens. He shoves on the rest of his clothes and is ready to leave in moments. We meet in the doorway awkwardly, his hair still slightly mussed from sleep. I smile up at him, feeling his eyes on me. Stuffed together in the door frame we are closer than we have been since the night we held hands. How long ago was that? Only a few days? I can't stop staring at his eyelashes for the life of me. He is leaning into me, almost as if he his gravitating toward me unconsciously. I swallow hard, his forehead resting against mine.

I feel the anxiety coming on. His heat radiates through me, right down to my bones. Part of me wants to turn and run, I could be at the top of the large oak in my yard in moments. Another part of me however, wants to intertwine my fingers with his shirt and pull him toward me, take that warmth for my own and taste it again. We are frozen like this, until I clear my throat uncomfortably and turn away without a word. He closes his eyes and sighs. 

We walk in comfortable silence, taking in the rubble with awe. In the sunlight of summer, everything seems more real, more tangible. All of the effects of the war weighing heavily in my chest. I catch Thom near the fence and wave softly. He shields his eyes from the sun with his hands. He doesn't wave, he just looks down, his eyes heavy with an emotion that echoes sympathy. 

People gawk at me again, stopping to stare at Peeta and I. I keep my head down and try to hold my breath and count. People are clearing out bricks and ash. I notice a pregnant woman I have never seen before resting in the shade of a tree. Her hand resting on his large belly. Her back leaning against the rough bark. I have to wonder what kind of a future her child will have now. The games are gone, at least for now. That child is no longer doomed to be reaped. It won't have to work in the darkness of the mines. Its life has a tinge of hope, it could go anywhere it wants. I can't help but think, was it worth it? 

Peeta and I reach the fence. Old habits die hard and I listen for the familiar humming. It isn't there, of course it isn't there. I hear his sharp intake of air as he stares out over the churned earth. They are bringing fresh bones there, even now. Peeta fists clench until his knuckles are white. His eyes are closed by the sun. His jaw is tight. After a moment he works on calming himself, his breathing slowly evens. We stare out at the wheelbarrows being brought out for what feels like hours. 

“Do you think they are there, Katniss?” I reach out for him with out meeting his eyes. I can't, I am too afraid of crying. “Do you think those are their bones?” I clamp his hand in mine.

I try to think of a sweet lie to tell him. Seeing his eyes so far away and broken is too much. I lean my head into his collarbone, and wrap my arm around his waist. He flinches against my touch. “Maybe.” I say softly, leaning my face into his chest. His hand comes up and touches my hair carefully. 

He turns after a few minutes, still grasping my hand tightly in his. He tries to pull me towards town, but I pull him to a stop. “Peeta, let's go to the woods.” I suddenly have butterflies in the pit of my stomach. He turns and looks out to the vastness beyond the fence, beyond the meadow. He doesn't say anything, just nods and lets me lead him passed the destruction and bodies.

We are standing among the trees. Peeta looks out of place, leaning against a tree trunk. I can't remember the last time I was out here. The air smells sweet and warm with sunshine and pine. The ground is soft with pine needles and dead leaves. “Come on!” I shout with a smile, pulling him forward. I find my hollowed out log. I reach in and find my bow right where I left it. I pull out my arrows and sling them over my shoulder. 

“Right where you left it, Miss Everdeen?” Peeta asks with a small amount of humor in his voice. 

 

“Come on!” I shout again, “I have something to show you!” about halfway to the lake I am feeling frustrated. He snaps a branch beneath his foot, it echoes through the forest.

“Do you like having squirrel for dinner?” I snap, half joking, half irritated. He glowers at me and my sullen expression. Suddenly he stops short, grabbing my wrist. 

“Says the girl that has two legs.” he teases with a smirk. I am turning away when he speaks up. “Katniss, look at that.” I follow his eyes through the dense forest. A doe drinks from a small pool of water. I pull a arrow from my quiver. I pull my bow string tight. I watch the small doe carefully, waiting for my shot. I think venison would make a pretty good dinner. Greasy Sae would be happy. “Katniss, Don't.” Peeta pulls on my shoulder after a moment. I turn to look at him, but his eyes are fixed on the deer, something approaching awe in his voice. I can't help but smile softly.

“You sound like Prim.” I say, as soon as I do I freeze. Peeta sees it in my eyes and steps forward, hugging me tight to him. A branch snaps and the doe flees, gone as quickly as she appeared.

“You know, it's okay to say her name.” he whispers. I feel tears welling in my eyes. I turn away from him, embarrassed.

“Come on.” I pull him forward by his hand, not saying anything until we reach the lake. We come out as the sun is high in the sky. The trees breaking into a small meadow before meeting the cool, green water. 

“I used to come here with my father.” I say as I climb up a small rock. He looks out at the water calmly. The meadow is bursting with color, honeysuckle, daffodils, snapdragons and daisies are all blooming. Silently, he watches me as I begin to pick flowers handing the small bouquet to him. 

He walks over to the water and pulls off his boots and socks, scrunching the hem of his pants up until they rest mid-calf. I watch him dip his feet into the water. I slowly walk over and join him. He watches as I take off my boots and socks and set my feet in the cool water. 

 

“Katniss,” He stares down at the flowers in his hand, touching the frail petal of a daffodil. “What are we?” I don't answer right away, I just breathe in and out, trying to find an appropriate answer for him. What would he want to hear? I could tell him that I love him. It wouldn't be a lie, but aren't we past that? I mean, look at us, we are far too damaged to ever make sense of our love. The war saw to that. I could say we are friends, but that seems like I am skirting around him, just trying to appease him. 

“I don't like it when you ask me things like that.” I answer honestly, my spit feeling thick at the back of my throat. He won't meet my eyes he just watches the water lap around his ankles.

“Why?” he asks, and there is no malice behind it, no bite of anger. At this moment as I look at him, for the first time I realize how confused and alone he must be. Living among his own families ghosts, and trying to help me with mine. However, he is still just an eighteen year old boy. 

“Because, I don't know anymore than you, and when you ask me questions like that, it scares me because I am afraid I won't answer right, and you'll leave.” He grasps my hand at that.

“I won't leave.” he promises, with a small shake of his head. He looks at me and smiles sadly. He stands and holds out his hand to help me to my feet. I stare out at the lake wistfully before we head back into the forest.

We reach the district and try not to look out at the destruction of the meadow. We don't have to slip under the fence anymore, someone took a heavy rock and weighed down some of the weaker wires. At the fence Peeta stops, not sure what to do. I can see him warring with himself, thinking something that he doesn't dare say. After a moment he looks at me, his eyes filled with tears.

“Do you think they felt any pain?” I grab his face between my palms as tears pour silently down his face. I think about kissing him, but instead I hold him against me. 

“It'll be okay Peeta.” I whisper, after a moment the tears slow. He wipes them away with the flat of his palms, this action reminds me of a small child. He looks at the flowers I handed to him at the lake. He turns and walks to the fence, and sets them gingerly at the base. “You know, for years I hated my mother.” He turned to look at me, with a soft expression on his face. “She picked me out you know, my brothers never got it as bad as I did.” He clears his throat, “My father was,” he let his voice trail off. 

“When Prim was little, my mom sent me to get thread, because she needed to mend my fathers socks, and Prim begged to come with me.” I am lost in my thoughts. “So I brought her with me, and it was pouring outside, she was maybe 5.” I watch the flowers sway gently in the wind. “I lost her.” the words tumble out in a rush. “I lost her in the fabric shop, and I remember thinking that I'd never get my sweet Primrose back.” one tear catches in my eyelashes, he reaches out to wipe it away. “Turns out she was at the bakery, looking at your fathers cakes.” I giggle at that last part.

Peeta smiles softly, his fingers tracing the scars on my neck. My skin burns where he touches me. After a moment I grab his hand and we turn to head back to the house, leaving the flowers as tribute to the dead. 

When we arrive at my house, I pace around quietly as Peeta begins preparing dinner. My house seems too vast, too quiet. I ache for the woods again. I find myself upstairs. I stand in the silence at her door for a long time. I listen to the dull click as I turn the doorknob. I stare inside at the dust motes, disturbed and hanging in the fading sunlight. I finally step inside and take in her smell, all around me. I want to sob and fight and fall asleep all at the same time.

I open her closet where three dresses hang and two pairs of shoes are lined neatly. A few boxes tucked in the back. Her bed is still neatly made, an indent on her pillow. Her nightstand still holds a couple school books, her lamp and a glass of water, half full. There is a music box sitting on her window seal. I open it and it tinkles softly. I remember that our father had saved for months to get this for her sixth birthday.

I am seeing red, I am so angry. I want to scream, I want to fight. This war was not worth this! She was just a child! I grab at the curtains and rip them down. Something inside of me rejoices at the destruction. I knock her school books to the ground. I knot her music box in my fist, I am prepared to throw it, when Peeta appears in the doorway. My knees give and I sink to the floor.

 

My fingernails are scraping my face. I pull my hair, pain is better than this anger welling up inside of me, threatening to spill over and consume everything in its path. Peeta watches me, leaned up against the doorframe. 

“Feel better now?” he asks, moving to pick up the books from the floor. 

“No.” I spit, anger slowly leaving me. It leaves me exhausted. Peeta leans down and touches my shoulder. I feel it on the edge of my tounge, the words that have been weighing on me since she died.

“I killed her Peeta, Prim is dead because of me.” He leans in to hug me. I smell bread and sunshine and the crispness of the woods, the heavy scent of lakewater. 

“That wasn't you, that was the rebels, the Capitol, the war... not you.” 

I shake my head vehemently, Anger filling me again. “She never would have been there if it wasn't for me.” He holds me tighter, his hand intertwining with my hair. “I killed her, I killed my little sister.” I push him back so he can look into my eyes. “Say it!” I demand, my voice firm. “Say it! Say I killed her!” I am screaming now. “I killed her and I killed your family! All the people of twelve, Madge, Cinna, Everyone is dead because of me!” He's fighting against me, trying to tighten his grip against me.

“Katniss stop!” he shouts as I disolve into tears. “Its okay,” he soothes. I push him away and run toward my room, tripping on the rug. I slam into my door, struggling to see the doorknob through my tears, I rip down my curtains, smash vases, I knock books from the shelves. I can see Peeta in the room across the hall, just sitting with his head in his hands. I open the closet and grab a fistful of material intending to rip it from its hanger. The feeling of silk stops me in my tracks. 

My sobs slow into a soft hiccup. I enclose myself into the closet slowly. Grabbing dresses and soft pant suits from their silk lined hangers. I make myself a soft bed and lie down, curling into myself. After a few moments there is a soft knock. “Kat?” Peeta asks, his voice hoarse. “Katniss, please, let me in.”

 

I shut my eyes tight, and fall asleep without answering him. I can't help thinking that maybe the entire world has fallen away.


	5. Chapter 5

I stare at the grain of the wood in my closet door. I hear movement around, I hear hushed voices, Greasy Sae is here, so is her granddaughter. I have no energy for them, I don't move from my bed on the floor. Sometime, Peeta opens the door and tries to coax me out. I don't respond to his pleads or puppy dog looks. All I think of is Prim, the constellation of freckles that sprayed across the bridge of her nose. I think of her wide blue eyes. I feel like if I focus hard enough on the tiniest of details, the very will of it will bring her back, she will appear in front of me and smile. 

After a while Peeta stops talking to me. He just sits with his head resting against the door frame. I cover my face with a black silk garment and pretend to be asleep. After a very long time I hear Peeta begin to crawl towards me. I shut my eyes tighter, too tired to talk. He pulls the soft fabric back just a little, my neck and cheek are exposed. He leans forward and touches my cheek, just a ghost of his skin touches me but it sends goosebumps all over. I shiver just slightly and he catches it. He grabs a sweater from a hanger and drapes it over me. He is staring at me and I can feel it, I squeeze my eyes as tight as they will go. I struggle to keep my breathing even. He leans down and brushes his lips against my cheek. I have to fight myself to keep from jerking away.

His lips were soft and warm, and it left my cheek tingling. He runs his hand down my arm before shimmying out of the closet and shutting the door until there was just a sliver of light shining through. I open my eyes and let out a long breath, it comes out as a soft sob. I cover my mouth tightly with the palm of my hand, suppressing a scream.

I push myself farther back into the closet, balling myself tighter. I try to remember more of Prim, but Peeta's kiss is still burning my cheek. I am slightly angry with him. How come he has to come in here when I am just trying to live and survive in my sadness? Why does he have to bring feeling into my numbness? At the same time I yearn for his closeness. I want to bury my nose in his chest and breathe in the sugar, dill and flour that radiates from him. 

 

I fall asleep to the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. I try to keep my head above the heavy water of sleep. I fall asleep thinking a few hours of peace is never an easy thing to find.

There are mutt is on my heels, I feel its hot breath against my ankles, I don't dare turn around. I can't stop running, if I do I am dead. There is a dead oak tree not too far, If I could make it there I could tree myself and get to my bow. Its branches loom dark against the early morning fog. I push myself farther though my lungs ache and my ribs protest. My legs are shaking from exertion. 

The mutt is ravenous, I can hear it salivating behind me. Just a few more feet, and I will be at the tree. I push off the ground and hear a snapping of jaws behind me. My hands find purchase against the bark and I scramble up the tree, letting out a groan as my arms protest. I am tired and aching. I pull a arrow from my quiver and string my bow. I turn to confront my enemy. I am staring into Peeta's eyes, except they are black as midnight. He gazes at me stoically, his face blank. His eyes are so empty I can fall right into them. He looks at me for a long time, eyes boring into mine. I swear I can see hell.

“You have to kill him.” I voice states softly to my right. I turn my arrow sharply. Rue stares back at me quietly. I lower my bow. “ He's a Mutt, you have to kill him.” she repeats. Her voice holds no joy in this. We both look back at him in unison. He is right where I left him, his dark eyes staring up at me with venom seething from every one of his pores. He reminds me of a circling wolf. 

“I can't.” I say brokenly, my voice cracking. I can't help but think of Peeta and all of his soft comfort. The boy is still there, I can feel it. She shakes her head solomnly. Its beginning to rain softly, dampening everything. I feel my hair being weighted down by water. “Peeta is all I have.” 

He smiles at the sound of his name. It isn't a joyful expression, its a threat. He is baring his teeth, showing me each pointed fang. He growls deep in his throat. “You lost your chance.” Rue whispers, her voice far away. I turn back to her, but she is gone. In her place hangs a noose. The Hanging Tree. I understand now, I stand up. The branch bows at my weight. I wrap the noose around my neck, the heaviness of it surprising. Peeta growls again, his teeth clamping together with a loud snap. I swallow hard and take in one last ragged breath.

 

I stare into his eyes, blank and vicious. “Peeta?” I whisper. “Peeta I love you.” the branch snaps beneath me and I can't help but shriek with fear. I feel the rope tightening against my neck. Peeta just smiles up as I struggle against the rope.

 

I am sweating when I awaken. I clutch my throat as I gulp in air. I sit up but don't dare move from my makeshift bed. I hear Peeta's steps walking toward my closet and I make myself as small as I can. He pushes the door a little wider. His shirt is stripped off, and his hair is mussed. I must have awoken him from his sleep on the couch.

“Katniss, it's okay.” he soothes, reaching for me. I cringe backward, the dream still fresh in my mind. He lets out an exasperated sigh, but sinks to his knees in front of the closet. “Bad dream?” he asks me softly. I don't respond but stare at him suspiciously. He catches my mood and slides back a little. “Was it me?” He asked “Are you afraid of me?” I still don't answer, I am only still.

“Kat, I'm not going to hurt you.” I want to crawl out of here and tuck myself into him. I can't though I'm too tired. I'm tired of conflicting emotions and whispered promises in the dark. I mean, who are we kidding? We can't possible make this work between a girl and her nightmares and a boy and his poisoned mind. I mean, I am pretty sure half of the time he wants to kill me.

I press my chest into my knees and eye him warily. He settles in with a sigh and leans against the door frame. “I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, how's that?” he asks, stretching his legs out. I don't say anything but I curl up on my small bed of velvets and silks. I shut my eyes as Peeta does the same. It seems is presence is enough to chase my nightmares away for tonight.

I awaken to birds chirping and soft, cool morning light drifting in. I feel a heaviness in my hand and realize that Peeta's hand is grasped tightly in mine. I am still on my bed, but somehow Peeta has managed to slip his way inside the closet and intertwine his fingers with mine. I allow it for a few moments, relishing his warmth and smell and nearness. Then I gently pry are hands apart and curl back up on my bed in the back of the closet. 

 

I stare at him until he wakes up, I look at his broad shoulders spotted with light colored freckles, and the pale hair that trailed down his stomach. I reached out to touch the soft pink flesh of his scars before he began to stir and my hand shrunk back to my side self consciously.

“Hello,” he started timidly. I can't find words to say, so I remain quiet, though I can tell Peeta, who has the patience of a saint, is getting short willed to deal with me. I can see it in his soft blue eyes. Frustration bubbling up to the surface. I curl my face into my knees until I am in a fetal position.

“Katniss, you need to talk to me.” he states bluntly. I cover myself up with fabric. “Katniss, please.” he begs. He brings his whole body toward me and lifts up my wrist. He inspects the soft sliver of a cut that is beginning to scar, the scab is falling off to reveal the soft pink of new skin. He brings it up to his lips to kiss it. I stay beneath my cover, so he doesn't see the tears forming in my eyes. 

“I'll make breakfast.” he says after a moment. He drops my wrist and I feel that he is gone. I want to step out of my safety, from these warm covers and out into the light of the morning. I want to rush down the stairs and slam into him, pressing myself into him with everything I have. I want to brush my lips against his and tell him that I love him.

How do I tell him that every morning I wake up and wish I didn't? How do I tell him that after years of reaching out and finding nothing I have learned to reach inside instead? How do I tell him that every morning I wake up more scared than I was the day before? That Prim's voice is fading from my mind. That I can't remember how her voice lilted along with mine when we sang together. How do I tell him that I wake up everyday and expect him to be gone, because sooner or later everyone leaves. It's just a matter of when.

He comes back with eggs and toast and bacon. He sets some water next to the plate and then sits cross legged, waiting for me to move. “Come on Kat, you need to eat.” He orders gruffly, I sit up but don't move toward the food, I just stare at it.

“Come on, Kat.” He rubs his temples like he's warding off a headache. “Eat your food, please.” I give him a slight shake of the head, I am honestly trying but chewing sounds like so much effort, I just can't afford that much energy. “Eat.” he says again, Clearly miffed with me. I jut my bottom jaw out stubbornly and push the plate away. He pulls his hair slightly, trying to hide it by running his hand through his hair. “Come on Kat, Prim would want you to eat.” He states quietly, he is clearly trying to elicit some sort of response from me, anything. I can see the desperate look in his eyes.

“Prim doesn't want anything, Peeta.” I say flatly, my voice monotone. “Prim is dead.” I finish. I turn over and lay back down on my bed and wait for him to leave. Sure enough a few moments later I hear him turn and walk out. I shut my eyes and hot tears squeeze out. I cry myself out and fall asleep. I roll over at some point and notice that the eggs and toast I never touched has now been replaced by warm rolls and soup. I don't touch that either.

This goes on for two days, Peeta brings me fresh food every few hours. Sometimes he tries to talk to me. Chatting about things I don't really care about. I lay on my dresses and listen halfheartedly, Peeta doesn't try to get me to talk again. Sometimes he just sets down the plate and leaves. I don't blame him when he does.

On the third morning, Peeta brings me breakfast and stands over me. I look up at him, looming over me with annoyance. “Katniss, please get up.” I don't say anything, just stare at the wall.

He turns and leaves and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Its been maybe an hour when I hear footfalls in my room. 

The smell of booze hits me before he reaches the closet. “Get up.” he snaps angrily. Of course Peeta would get Haymitch! I knit my eyebrows together angrily and try to shoot Peeta a look, I can't find him though. “Get up!” he growls louder. He stands there staring at me for a few moments before grabbing my ankle in his hands, I push easily out of his grasp, I stand and run, trying to push past him. He grabs be around the middle and hefts me up in his arms. He carries me toward the bathroom while I beat my fists against his chest and kick. Screaming venomous names and him. 

“Come on, girl!” he yells, his breathing stinking of white liquor. “Get it out!”

“I hate you!!” I scream in his face, “I fucking hate you!” I am so angry tears spill out. We're in my bathroom now. I look around the darkness, just gaining my bearings when he drops me in the tub. The water is freezing, I gasp and kick as the water sloshes over the side. All of the fight that was in me suddenly goes out and I am left sitting with tears running down my face, staring at Haymitch.

“Feeling any better?” he asks with no edge of sympathy. I shake my head slowly. He reaches for a flask in his pocket, takes a long swig, and screws the cap back on.

“Killing yourself isn't the answer Katniss.” He stares me in the eyes flatly. 

“I wasn't-”

“Don't give me that shit, sweetheart, you were planning on laying in that closet until you met your maker!” I have to advert my eyes, he isn't wrong. “You've been making the boy crazy you know that!”

“What is it any business of mine if he's going crazy or not! I didn't ask him to stay here and make sure I eat and sleep!” I can't help the anger welling in me.

“Katniss,” he says, softly this time. “Be thankful you don't have to ask him.”  
He slides down the wall until he rests on the floor. We sit in silence, Haymitch slurping from his flask. I shiver in the bathtub.

“Does the booze help?” I ask him idly, he smiles darkly, his teeth yellow and discolored.

“It keeps the nightmares away.” He takes another long drink. “That isn't really true,” he adds after a moment. “Sometimes it just locks me inside of them. I mean, what more do I deserve? After all those children.” 

I stare at him for a long time. His greasy hair is plastered down to his head. His ill-fitting suit is covered in odd colored stains and cold bathwater. I never much thought of what it would be like to mentor those children, only to watch them perish one by one. 

“Haymitch?” he looks up at me with his gray eyes, the color of used dishwater. “Haymitch, how do survive?” my voice cracks and hot tears spill down my cheeks. Haymitch stands and walks over to me, kneeling until our faces almost touch.

“I'm not to sure sweetheart, I guess we just take it day by day.” He kisses the top of my head, in a unusal display of fatherly love.

“Any last advice.” He is walking out now, his silhouette dark against the light of my bedroom. He cocks his head to the side as he slows to stop in the doorway.

“Stay alive.” With that he's gone.

 

 

I pull myself out of the tub limb by limb and peel away my clothes. I slip on a olive green t-shirt and black pants. I brush through my hair and braid it down my back. I climb down the stairs slowly, not looking forward to facing Peeta. He's sitting at the table, his hands knotted in his hair. His elbows press against the table. He stares at the floor despondently. I don't say anything, I just slide the chair across from him out and sit down. He sits up straighter as if I scared him. His face is red and puffy, his eyes swollen. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out so I shut it again. He doesn't say anything either, we both just look at each other, as if it could ever be enough.

“Sometimes you scare me Kat.” He says sharply after what could have been minutes or hours.

“I know,” I utter, staring at his hands. Black smeared its way across the pale skin of his palm. I look at him quizzically, grabbing his hand with both of mine and examining it closely. “Peeta, what is this?” I ask. He seems almost enamored by my touch. “Is this charcoal?” I ask finally.

He nods and points to the back veranda. I begin to slip through the kitchen to my small back patio. I open the door and stare out. Nothing seems amiss. I turn to see Peeta hasn't moved from the spot I left him. Then I notice it. Thick, dark black lines on the concrete. I take a involuntarily step back. I hear him sob in the dining room, I can't move to comfort him.

The lines make something bigger. I search for it desperately. When I find my face among the lines and smudges I have to gag back a sob. I press my lips into the back of my hand. Its me, curled into a ball on my floor. I stare brokenly at the wall. A complete lack of expression on my face, my eyes are two empty black holes. 

I stare at him through the glass door. He looks at me with all of the fear and hope inside of him. I watch as he grabs his things quickly and turns to leave through the front door.

“Peeta wait!” I shriek, not waiting for his answer. I turn on my heels and push my body through a shrub and along the side of the house. I am standing on the front porch before he can reach the front door. We stare at each other some more. I try to swallow my pride and think of something meaningful to say. There is nothing, it just comes out as a broken whisper. “Don't go.” 

He walks slowly down the steps, his footfalls heavy. He touches my hair lightly with his fingertips. It sends hot electricity all the way to my toes. Slowly he winds his fingers deeper, tangling them with my braid. He pulls me in close to him and crushes his lips against mine. Sparks erupt inside of me. Every part of me is buzzing with life. All too soon, its over. Emptiness and hunger begin to stain my insides again. Peeta gives me a crooked half smile and runs his thumbs down my cheeks. I lean in for another kiss, Peeta obliges, but its the same soft, sweet, innocent kiss as before. 

“Are you leaving?” I stammer, cursing myself for sounding like such a fool. He seems to be looking at me wholly. Examining every inch of me.

“Do you want me to leave?” I wrap my hands around his middle and hold him tight, shaking my head into his chest. 

“I don't ever want you to leave.” I whisper and he nods knowingly.

“Okay then, I'll stay right here with you.”


	6. Chapter 6

The sun has not yet risen. I am lying among the dead leaves and pine needles on the ground. The smell of damp earth fresh in my nose. I rake my fingernails through it and try to stand. I let out a shriek as pain stabs through my right leg. I fall back to the ground with a grunt. I can hear him in the distance, though it's dark I know what face he is wearing, the same when he has an idea in his head he can't get out. A face of dark determination and fierce stubbornness. I try to roll myself over to crawl away, but I feel like a rock stuck in the side of a stream, paralyzed in place while the world moves around me. 

He circles me like a rabid dog, salivating for a meal. I let out a whimper of fear, it only seems to excite him. A deep growl escapes his throat, barely audible. I can make his silhouette in his darkness, darker than the night. I know I cannot fight his shadow, I brace myself for impact. I tuck my chin to my chest and curl my legs into my stomach. He catches my leg and I let out a wail. 

His teeth rip into my flesh and hot blood flows from the wound. His teeth glint in the moonlight as red drips from his chin.

"Peeta, Peeta baby please." I plead, my throat hoarse. He crawls up towards my face. His body coming uncomfortably close to mine. He is practically laying on top of me. I try not to look into those dead eyes. I try to remind myself this is a mutt, not my sweet Peeta. He grabs my chin roughly, forcing my eyes to meet his.

"Shhhh." This Peeta has a deep throaty voice, even his words sound like a growl. "Katniss, I promise, this will only hurt for a moment." I can't take my eyes from the two dark pits where his soft blue eyes once were. The bottom half of his face is stained copper. 

"Peeta, Please." I beg, his body pinning me to the ground. He smiles, his teeth sharp fangs. He kisses my neck gently, as a lover might, before sinking his teeth into my throat. I can only gurgle on the hot blood rising in my throat as he laughs darkly.

I awaken in a tangle of sheets grasping at my throat and sucking in big mouthfuls of air. I am surprised that Peeta isn't in bed with me, his arms encircling me protectively. The door is cracked slightly and the hallway light is dimly pouring through the space softly. I yawn and lift myself up from the pillow. I creep out of bed as quietly as I can. I pad down the hall softly and stop on the second stair, I peer between the slates in the railing, squinting against the bright light downstairs.

Peeta is hunched over his journal, feverishly scribbling away on the cheap paper. I can make out his handwriting and a few sketches. I catch the smell of sugar and cinnamon, my stomach involuntarily gurgles and I silently curse it for being so loud. Peeta catches the noise and turns, his eyes meet mine.

"I had a bad dream." I say sheepishly, shrugging my shoulders.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." He apologizes softly, clearing his throat and slyly shutting the journal, shutting his fist around it. "I'm making muffins." he adds, gesturing to the kitchen. I walk down the stairs and take in a deep breath. My stomach growls loudly again and I can't help but giggle softly.

"I noticed." I smile softly, pecking his cheek lightly as I move to sit next to him. Peeta and I have reached a awkward routine. I wake before the sun and grab my bow and jacket.I head out into the cold of morning and try to hunt. Peeta awakens, usually as I am leaving and begins to bake. He makes way more than we eat, so he tries to take it to the workers around the district clearing out rubble. I am back in the afternoon when he is cleaning up. I generally sit on the porch and clean any game I have while Peeta writes in his journal or paints next to me. We sit there, enveloped in comfortable silence. Sometimes Haymitch joins us, most days he doesn't.

Something feels different today however, when I lean in to kiss his cheek he accepts it, but steps to the side almost immediately. He smiles warmly, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, which seem clouded over, like he is somewhere far away. I feel frustration shoot up my spine. Its been over two months since my days in the closet, and when we have been close to each other its when we are sleeping. We kiss, but we never move to deepen things. I feel a wave of rejection ripple through me.

"Peeta what's wrong?" I ask softly, tears stinging the back of my eyes. I focus on taking deep breaths in through my nose and releasing them slowly. The pesky tears threatening to spill over recede without him noticing.

"I don't know what you mean." He answers, moving as the timer goes off on the oven. He pulls out the muffins and sets them on the stove to cool. He doesn't meet my eyes, he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the distance between us.

"Yes, you do." I snap, my patience is wearing thin. I am in one of Peeta's shirts, its thin and poor cover for the chill in the night air. Peeta hears the ice in my voice and reaches his fingertips toward my hip, grazing the fabric lightly. I am suddenly aware that my legs are bare, my skin prickling with goosebumps at his touch. I self consciously tug at the hem of the shirt, trying to cover my scarred thighs.

He only gives an crooked, apologetic smile, wrapping his hand tight around my hip bone, he tries to pull me close but I wriggle from his grasp. He reaches for my hand next, trying to pull me into him. I sigh as he succeeds, breathing in the cinnamon on his skin.

"You can't get out of this Peeta." I try weakly to resist him, gently punching my fist into his chest as he lifts me up and sets me on the counter. He picks up a muffin and hands it to me. Its still too hot to eat so I sit there watching him fill up a pot for tea. Soon I am staring at a steaming hot mug.

"You going to hunt today?" he asks absent mindedly as he gathers up measuring cups and mixing bowls and dumps them into the sink.

"Probably," I mutter, my mind far away. I can't stop staring at the leather bound journal sitting on the table. What secrets does it hold? Curiosity eats at me as I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. It seems that Peeta hasn't heard me, he's staring into the darkness beyond the kitchen window. His eyes are cloudy and distant. Fear eats at the bottom of my stomach. His hands are clenched into white fists, blood beginning to bloom where his fingernails dig into his palm.

"Peeta?" I whisper, barely even a noise. His head whips around quickly and he smiles, but something is off. Its a sinister smile, filled with malice. He begins to walk toward me, but in the time it takes him to take one step he shakes his head and his eyes meet mine, clear and blue as always. He smiles, warmly this time. I see the fear in his eyes though, the way he chews on his lip. "Peeta what was that?" I demand, unable to shake the dread that is filling me still.

He doesn't answer me at first. He looks almost physically sick, a green shade in his normally pallid skin. Sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead. "Um nothing, if you'll excuse me Kat, I'm feeling very tired. I'll clean this up later." He gestures toward the dishes in the sink. I nod but my voice seems stuck in my throat. He moves past me in haste, practically running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He slams the bedroom door behind him, the loud noise making me jump in my skin.

I move around the house like a ghost for the next few hours. I pace back and forth softly, floorboards creaking beneath my weight. I hear nothing from upstairs. I stare at his journal some, I can't shake the feeling that the answers to Peeta are in it. I even move to open it, at the last moment I jerk my hand away, not wanting to know the answers.

I finally fall into a restless sleep on the couch. I awake when soft morning light drips through the windows. I sigh and climb the stairs, deciding that a hot shower would help clear my mind. I open the door to the bedroom softly and look around. Peeta is sleeping, his arms wrapped around his head, as if warding off nightmares. His legs are tangled with the bedsheets and blankets. He's thrown the pillows to the ground next to the bed. I sit on the foot of the bed, careful not to disturb him.

He mumbles a bit, tossing over restlessly. I touch his prosthetic that sits next to the bed, thinking of how self conscious he was about taking it off at first, insisting he sleep with it on. How it took a few days but eventually I talked him into letting me see it off. I think about how most of the time I forget he is even damaged. Some mornings we almost seem like a normal couple, walking hand and hand through my yard. How people smile as they walk by when we sit on the porch. Peeta laughing at the scowl I wear as they do.

I can't stop myself when I move towards him, crawling across the knotted sheets until my face is an inch from his. I press my chapped lips against his. He smiles and his eyes flutter open, they look at me with haziness of sleep. I move my lips against his and brush my tongue against his lips. He laughs against my kiss and pushes me back softly.

"Good morning Katniss." he says, still groggy and half awake. I'm twisted against him awkwardly. He stares at me for a long time, as if he can't tear his eyes away from me. I lean into him again, I finally manage to part his lips and fireworks go off in my head as he deepens the kiss. My whole body is screaming at me when he finally comes up for air. I try for another kiss, but he pushes me back.

"What?" I demand, hurt deepening my voice. I crawl off of him and curl my legs into my chest. I play with the corner of the sheet as he sits up and rubs his face with both hands. "I thought this was what you wanted." I state, anger growing in my voice.

"I do." he says calmly, his face wears an expression I can't name. He tries to reach for me, I jerk away dramatically. He sighs like a world weary father. "Katniss," he begins but his voice trails off.

"What?" I demand again, straightening my spine as I stand. I jut my lip into a pout, like a child, I can't seem to help it. He looks like he is going to laugh for a moment, but he clears his expression quickly. We stare at each other for a long time, sizing each other up. The silence between us is unbearable.

"I should shower." Peeta finally whispers and stands, refusing to meet my eyes. He disappears behind the door and I stand there, still angry and spurned. I pull on a pair of pants in a huff.

"I'm going out!" I yell at him as the shower turns on. I slam the door and stomp down the stairs theatrically. I grab my hunting jacket and game bag. I pass by the journal as I head for the door. I stop short, only pausing for a moment before snatching it and slipping it into my bag.

I travel deep into the woods, farther than I have since I had been back in twelve. Its only when I reach a soft bed of leaves nestled against the trunk of a tree that I stop. I bundle myself against the cool of fall and settle in. I stare at the creases in the leather binding for a long time before I actually open it and begin to flip through the pages. Some part of me deep inside crinkles and crumbles with shame, knowing I crossed a line that I will never be able to apologize for.

I open it to the middle and my breath stop short in my throat. I have to swallow several times before I can focus my eyes on his neat boxy handwriting.

Its like there is two of me. I see her in my dreams as a little girl with her two braids. She holds her fathers hand as he walks her to school. She smiles but her face is turned away from me and I can't see it. I want so much to protect her from the things she is going to see. I want to shield her from all of those horrible nightmares that are going to plague her. I want to hug her and tell her father to take her and Prim and their mother and run while they still can. I want to stop those horrid dreams from creasing her face and making her look years older than she is. The other me smiles at the pain. I want to take her in my arms and hold her up, then crush her windpipe. I want end all of the hurt she will cause me. 

How do I tell her this? That some nights I wake up and still have that urge to press a pillow to her face? How do I live with myself? I love her. I love her so much... She is the only reason I have to face the day anymore. How do I tell her that I am so scared that one day my control will slip and I will hurt her? 

I know she feels it in me. She is never too close to me. It's okay, I don't mind. It's better that way.

His handwriting grows more desperate toward the end of that entry. I can tell he was pressing the pencil to the paper hard. Beneath the words is a drawing of me. I am smiling but my eyes are two deep black holes.

I turn the page, the entry is gentler, a better day, I suppose. The drawing is of me, my face upturned to the sky. I sit on my porch my eyes shut tight, soaking in the sunshine. I remember that day, Peeta and I went for a walk, brought some liquor to Haymitch. Peeta made Cheesebuns. It was a good day. Tears are pouring down my face, I soak them up with the cuff of my shirt.

Katniss and I went for a walk and she smiled at my joke. I didn't realize how much I missed her smile. She might be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

That's all it says. I thumb through more of the journal. Peeta talks about his mother, his father, his brothers. He talks about Haymitch and Effie, even Gale. Some are just random memories, some bitter tangents, depending on the day. Some of the days I remember vividly, some I wonder about, like bad days. I struggle to remember them. To remember if his voice had cracked at all, or if his facade of normalcy was too thick that I didn't notice.

I had a dream that Katniss was killed in the arena, I couldn't save her.

I stay in the woods long after I shut the book, clenching it in my hands and pressing it against my chest. I just stare out at the trees. Its only when dusk descends that I finally rise and make myself head home. I curse myself for leaving so late after the stars are out. Its difficult to move through the bracken and brush in the darkness.

Its well past dark when I reach the old fence. Lights are glowing warmly from the few houses that have occupants. I walk along the familiar roads lazily, in no rush to make it home. I stop short when I see my house. It sits as dark and cold as Haymitch's house. I move softly up the stairs and slip into the living room. I drop my game bag by the door, its heavier than normal and hits the floor with a dull thud, I wince at the noise. I look around carefully. There is no fire roaring in the fireplace. There is soft light from the bedroom.

"Peeta?" I yell toward the stairs. I am taking my jacket off as he answers, I start when I realize he is sitting at the table. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. His lips are pressed into his fists, his knuckles white. I can tell by his face that he is angry.

"What?" he replies coldly. He knows I took the journal, the shame I felt earlier is tripled when I meet his eyes.

"I didn't know that you were here." I state weakly, my voice shaking slightly.

"Where else would I be Katniss?" He snaps back, looking at me sharply.

"Look, I'm sorry." No use prolonging the argument. He laughs frigidly. I try to dig my toe into the wooden floor. "I just needed to know-"

"Know what, Katniss?" Tears bite my eyes, and spill over. My chest is heaving but I make no noise. "Know those horrible things I think!" He stands up and moves toward me. "Know that every time that I touch you I am afraid of hurting you!"

His hands are pressing into my shoulders, shaking me slightly. "I am so scared every day-" He suddenly takes a giant step backward, shaking his head. "No... No... No!" I reach out to him but he pushes away from my grasp. His eyes seem far away, his breathing ragged.

"Peeta." I say flatly. He just shakes his head. His skin is paler than usual. He is scratching his arms with his fingernails. When he looks at me its pure darkness.

"I need to leave." he whispers, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry Kat, I need to leave."

He disappears through the door and leaves me in the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:  
> Inhuman – Aesthetic Perfection   
> Sowing Season – Brand New  
> Old World lies – Brasstronauts  
> We used to vacation – Cold War Kids  
> The one I love – David Gray  
> Somebody that I used to know – Elliot Smith  
> 9 crimes – Damien Rice  
> War is Kind- Jakob Dylan  
> Winter is coming – Radical Face

I am curled into a ball on the kitchen floor. I fight away memories of Hijacked Peeta, coming at me with crazed eyes, His gun raised over his head. I sob openly, snot and tears running down my face. I scream and scream, and when I can't scream anymore I cry again. I am shaking, my whole body trembles with memories. I cry for myself, and for Prim, and for Finnick and Annie, I cry for their newborn child, I cry for my mother, I cry for Haymitch and Cinna and Rue. I feel like my ribs are caving in, one by one.

I slowly climb up and dig in a drawer, when my fingers find the sharp blade of a knife I rip it from its resting place. I hold it to my wrist with trembling fingers. I stare at my already scarred skin for ages, I drag the knife across my wrist in one quick motion. Blood begins to pool, then run down my arm and I feel a scream release from my throat. I pull at my hair and scratch my nails down my face. I cannot contain the pain inside anymore, and it pours out of me like a river into the sea.

Buttercup pads over and mews at me pathetically. I kick at him and he leaps out of the way effortlessly. He finally settles down near me, licking himself quietly. After a few minutes I weep myself out and I sit despondently on the floor, my face puffy and swollen. Finally I resign myself to stand up. I walk into the downstairs bathroom and stare into the mirror at my patchwork skin. My hair that I had just started to even out from the day Prim died. My steel Gray eyes. Everything looks older, so much older than I am. Blood drips from my wrist to the floor in small droplets, I don't move to clean it up or tend to my wound as I did last time. Its deep, I can feel it, but I see no point in stitching it up, so I let it bleed and hope it will drain some of this sadness from me.

I pick of a pair of scissors from a drawer under the sink and begin to chop away at my hair. I don't look at the clumps of hair floating to the floor. I stare at myself in the mirror instead, the hard set determination in my eyes, my lips pressed into a firm line. I stop when my hair is resting just below my shoulders. I look at myself along time, until I am satisfied I am someone else, that a simple haircut could make me something different. "See," I say to the girl in the mirror. "I can change, I can be different." The girl in the mirror wears a look that says she doesn't believe me.

After my outburst I shove on a coat that Cinna had made me made of soft leather, fur lining the inside. I laced my boots and stepped out into the night. The air is crisp but its clear and the moon cast shadows against the houses. I trudge over to Peeta's house, that sits identical to mine, but quiet and lifeless. After I knock twice with no response I step inside carefully, calling Peeta's name.

"Peeta!" I shout as I ascend the stairs, taking small but determined steps. I push his bedroom door open. Everything is neat and in order. His bed is made up and a pair of boots sits neatly on the floor next to his dresser. I am overcome with his loneliness. There are no pictures on the wall, the top of his dresser is bare. His clothes are lined up neatly in his closet. I step into a room and am overcome with color, even in the silver glint of moonlight. This must be the room where he paints. It was my mothers room at my house, this room is covered in canvas. The pictures overwhelm me so much I fall into a huddled position as I take it all in.

The war is all around me, I can smell the smoke and taste the ash. One captures my attention almost immediately. Its Finnick and I, walking together in our uniforms. We both wear matching looks of determination and pain. He holds his trident in his right hand, his green eyes are sharp and angry. Soot and blood smear my face. I touch it gently and snap my hand back as if it had been made of fire. I see a portrait of myself, more recent, as I chop onions. My scars are jagged and angry against my skin, my eyes are hollow. I don't wear a smile, I am focused on the task at hand.

There is another painting of me in my Mockingjay dress, in a swirl of smoke, my arms outstretched. I stand on my tip toes. I am reminded of Rue for a moment. I turn and there is Peeta's mutt, the me he is afraid of. I am drenched in dark colors. I wear a look of malice, my lips pulled around my teeth unnaturally. My eyes are a deep, smoldering charcoal. My fingers are curved into claws.

I hear the sound in my throat, the unreal gasping, before I realize its me.

I feel the knots in my stomach tightening. I wrap my hands around my ears protectively, drowning out the memories of Finnick's screams, of his memories washing over me. I remember the look on Rue's face as she died. The way Haymitch reached for me as I dissolved into tears when we filmed the propos, When Peeta was still in Snow's clutch. I try desperately to hold onto myself as each painting I see brings me closer to falling apart completely. I see Annie painted in a similar position that I am in, Finnick whispers in her ear, his eyes filled with only her.

The image is enough to bring me up for air. I stand and take slow deep breaths, I move to the next room, shutting this door behind me tightly. I move on, stepping out of the stale air into the cold. I shout Peeta's name as I move through town. I trip over bricks and ash as I become more frantic to find him. All I hear is the absence of his voice and a dog barking in the far distance. A few people open their doors and look at me as I wander through the cold, screaming his name. Most people quietly close their doors after a moment, a few keep their gaze on me until I disappear from view.

I am standing in the rubble of what used to be his families bakery. All that stands now is one wall where the fireplace once stood. I sit there for a while, drawing in the ash with a stick, sitting on a cinder block. I wait there a long time, shouting his name every once and awhile. Soon the sun starts to come up. I sigh and start for home, kicking my toes into the dirt. I had left a message for him in the dirt and ash, in case he did end up here. Come home.

My fingers are frozen when I reach my door, but I have one more place to check. I don't bother knocking on his door and barge into the foul air. Haymitch is awake, but barely, slumped over in a chair staring at a dying fire. His fingers are loosely wrapped around a dirty bottle. His eyes are barely slits.

"Haymitch," I start, shaking his arm. "Haymitch?" It takes him a few moments longer than a normal person, but finally he turns to me and smiles slyly.

"Hey sweetheart, you screaming half the night kept me awake." he remembers the bottle in his grasp and lifts it to his lips.

"Sorry." I mumble and he cracks another half smile. "Haymitch, have you seen Peeta?" I ask, my voice catching slightly at his name.

"Isn't he with you?" I shake my head and he cocks his head to the side. "What, lover's spat?" I let out a sarcastic smile and shake my head again.

"I am a horrible person." I state to the floorboards, fighting the thickness in my throat.

"No, you aren't Katniss." Haymitch says setting down his drink. "you're just trying to survive, like the rest of this. Whatever happened, he'll come home when he is ready, you'll apologize and move on. Everything will be okay, you'll see."

"I don't think so, not this time." My voice is gruff with tears. "I really screwed up." I whisper softly. Haymitch hands me the bottle in his hand, and I take it with shaking fingers. I lift it to my lips and take a long drink, it burns but goes down easy. I take another swig before letting it rest between my thighs.

We sit in comfortable silence, I take a sip from the bottle every once and a while. Haymitch pulls out another and hands it to me when I have finished off the first.

"My girls name was Jessamine ." He says into the early light of morning. "She was a year younger than me and had really long, black hair. She had a real pretty little freckle on her face right here." he points to his just below his right cheekbone, his eyes far away in memory. "Her eyes were the color of Jade, she was so bright, she eclipsed everyone else in her wake." he is quiet for a long time, I don't dare speak. "She was dead a week after I came back from my games, they just took her, I don't know where, they took her, tortured her probably, and killed her."

"Haymitch, I-" the liquor is hot in my chest and tears pour down my face. I take another drink before I say something stupid.

"I think the worst part is not knowing, I have no idea if she called out my name or was scared-" his voice cuts off and his bottom lip trembles slightly. "If she saw me today, she wouldn't recognize me."

I stumble back to my house, my hand shielding my eyes from the sunshine. The alcohol went to my head quickly and my world is tipsy. I fall into my door and crawl to the couch, my stomach wrenching.

I fight sleep with all of my strength, holding my eyes open desperately. I call out Peeta's name a couple of times, on the off chance he might hear me. There is no other noise in the house. For the first time since he came back, I feel truly alone.

"Finnick?" I am surprised at how vivid his eyes are in the sunlight. He sits next to me, our shoulders touching lightly. I feel light headed and giddy at the sight of him, whole and alive next to me. I can help but let out a delighted giggle. He knots a rope in his hands, looking out into the distance. I smell the sea on his skin, in his hair. When I turn to look out with him I am surprised, There is no sea stretching as far as the eye can see. It is my woods, heavy with fog. The pine trees are hanging with snow. Everything for miles is glistening white.

"Katniss look." he laughs as he holds up his knot for me to inspect. I can't help but touch his face.

"I can't believe it's really you." I shake my head with awe. He laughs again, a deep throaty sound.

"Why not?" He works out the knot he was showing me and begins another. 

"Finnick, I'm so tired." I whisper, "and scared." I add with a shaky voice. 

"It will be okay." he reassures me with a warm smile. 

"I am so sorry Finnick." 

"Its alright Kat, Everything is warm and soft here. I am okay." He holds up the next knot to show me with a small smile. "Katniss, The dead don't feel anything." 

"Everything is so violent and bright." I cry out, my breath hot against the cold morning air. "This must be hell."

"Forgive yourself Katniss, it will make things a lot easier."

When I awaken its almost dark, my dream of Finnick stays with me a long time. My head aches and my stomach flip flops. I drink a glass of water and crawl into my bed. My dreams aren't as peaceful. I dream of a girl with long, dark hair and a freckle on her cheek screaming Haymitch's name into a deep abyss. After what seems like forever she falls into the darkness and doesn't return.

I can't find Peeta for almost a week. I sit at what used to be his family's bakery everyday. When I come home I try to keep busy, cleaning and dusting and folding. I visit Haymitch and bring him a plate of food. On the third day I start a fire in his hearth and scrub his dishes. I clean the garbage from his floor, while he is passed out on the couch. He is snoring soundly when I make a quiet exit.

After day five I feel like I am losing my mind with worry. I take to walking the streets with a deadpan look in my eyes. I am careful not to look at someone in the face for too long, fearful of what I will find there. Looks of sympathy are almost worse than those of malice. Thom sees me and comes over. I ask him if he had seen Peeta. He shakes his head solemnly. I move on without saying goodbye. I sit at the train station for a while. Watching as more people from twelve come back to the only home they've ever known. Some stare at me in wonder, a few even approach me. I don't ever respond to anyone. I just stare out at the crowd and search for Peeta.

I am returning from Haymitch's on the sixth day, I had just deposited my boots on the floor when movement startles me. Peeta is standing in the kitchen, he goes still as a stone when he sees me. His eyes look weathered, but the same bright blue. His hair is mussed and his shirt is dirty and wrinkled. His face holds deep creases of worry.

"You cut your hair?" he says softly, his voice catching. He looks unsure for a moment. "Real?" he asks me uncertainly.

"Real." I utter, anger at him is growing inside of me. "Where have you been?" I ask my voice on the edge of yelling. "I've been looking everywhere for you." I fight to keep my voice even.

I see his eyes shoot back and forth as he backs away from me. His hand rubs the side of his face roughly, leaving his skin red. I see raw marks from his fingernails on his arms.

"Peeta!" I yelp at the sight of the dried blood on his arms, I remember my own dried blood and shame fills me. I reach for his wrist to examine the wound. He yanks his arm away from me and stares out beyond me, his eyes seeing things far away. "Peeta, let me see." I say softer now, trying to coax him toward me.

He looks at me, distrust in his eyes. He chews on his lips until they're bloodied. "Peeta, come on, its me. Let me see, it might be infected." After a few moments of staring he offers his arm. I lead him to the kitchen and set him down on the floor. I grab a rag and wet it with hot water. I lean in front of him and begin to wipe away the dirt. After a few moments I am satisfied that its not infected. I rub ointment on it and when I finally meet his eyes I offer a smile. "I think you'll live." He stares at me like he doesn't believe me.

He gently brings his fingers up to my hair, fingering a tendril of hair that hangs in my eyes. "I like it when you wear your hair down." he says quietly.

"Its too short to braid." I say self consciously, tucking the strand of hair behind my ear. We stay this way for a few moments, looking at each other. "Come on," I whisper after a few moments. He lets me lead him upstairs without a word.

We fall onto the bed in the dark. He wraps his arms around me carefully , as if I am a porcelain doll and he's is afraid I might break. I rest my head on his shoulder and breath him in. We stay this way a long time, he runs his fingers through my hair while I sit and listen to the steadiness of his heart beating.

"Where were you?" I try again. "I looked for you." I am on the verge of sleep. He presses his lips into my forehead.

"I needed to be away." he said simply, wrapping his arms around me tighter.

"Tell me what it was like." I say, pressing my chin into his chest.

"What being away?" He swallows hard, his eyebrows knitting together uncertainly.

"No, being in the Capitol." he smiles nervously, he has my full attention now.

"I don't want to talk about it." he says softly, and I don't press. I lay my head back onto his shoulder. I am on the cusp of sleep when he leans into my forehead and presses his lips into my hair. "I love you." he says, so quiet it sounds softer than a breath.

I go still, my breathing ragged and uneven. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend to be asleep. I know he knows that I am not asleep, but he doesn't say anything else to me, just settles deeper into the blankets. I lay awake for a long time listening to him breathe, fighting the urge to run away. I curl myself tighter into him, relishing the feeling of his breath in my hair. When I am sure he is asleep I lift my head to look at him. He looks so gentle, the child I knew in school. I resist the urge to wake him up, but I brush the hair from his eyes and smile. When I shut my eyes, I wish to dream of good things.

My dream is gentle, if not, peaceful.

I am sitting on a boat with Peeta, on the green water of the lake. I lean against edge, my fingers drifting through the cold water lazily. I can't keep the smile from my face as watch the ripples spread away from me, growing. 

"Peeta," I smile looking up at him and the sunlight glinting in his yellow hair.

His eyes are miraculously clear and a vivid blue. He doesn't say anything, just smiles back at me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:
> 
> Haunted - Radical Face
> 
> Follow the cops back home - Placebo
> 
> All I want - Kodaline
> 
> Wait - M83

"You answer it." I mutter groggily pulling the sheets closer to me. Soft overcast light has begun to drift through the windows. Peeta presses his bare chest against my back and his heat envelops me. "Ugh, your like a million degrees." The phone is still screaming from the nightstand.

"Don't change the subject, answer the phone."

"You answer it." I repeat grumpily. He smiles against my neck.

"Its your house, Kat." I pick up the phone and slam it down the receiver forcefully. The house is blessedly quiet again. I shift myself deeper under the blankets. Peeta kisses the space between my neck and ear and sends shivers down my spine.

"We should probably get up." I mumble after a few moments. I sit up and stretch. He presses his face into the pillow dramatically.

I wince as my bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. "Peeta!" I exclaim as he grabs me around the middle and pulls me back into the bed. He kisses my neck and chest and face and finally my lips. I make a halfhearted attempt to push him away but succumb to the kisses after a few moments. His lips are warm and his tongue tastes sweet.

After a few moments we are panting and awkwardly twisted together. We stare at each other for a few moments before untangling our legs and standing. Peeta pulls on his prosthetic as I dress. He stays turned around while I change my shirt. I pull on my fathers jacket as he goes into the bathroom to shower.

I watch steam filter out from under the door for a few moments. I can't help but be curious. I want to open the door and let the steam take me over. I want to strip my clothes and step into the shower with him. I want him more than anything. I feel a blush creep up my neck and shake my head, turning to head downstairs.

Buttercup hovers over his food bowl and meows pathetically as I open a can of shredded chicken and deposit it into his bowl. I watch as he eats greedily. The phone begins to ring again as I pick at a muffin. My fingers go still. I walk up to the phone that sits next to my couch. I think about answering it, but instead I step into the cold morning air.

I drift down the road, cutting through the fog and slipping through the fence unseen. The trees are beginning to turn vivid reds and lush oranges. I have to tell myself to slow down as I jog along the edge of the tree line. I tell myself there is no need to hide, I can come and go as freely as I like. I find the hollowed out log where I keep my bow and quiver. I count my arrows and slip it over my shoulder. My breath steams against the early fall air.

I check my snare line, the same Gale and I had set all those moons ago. It seemed like another lifetime,blurred in my memory. I suddenly miss him terribly. In a way different from the way I missed Prim, or even my mother. I miss the easy silence of mornings so much like this one. I miss the way he smelled of woodsmoke and leather. I miss the way he knew what I was thinking, half the time we wouldn't utter a single word while we were out here.

I missed him in a way that would let me believe I'd never see him again.

I have four squirrels and three rabbits before I notice a noise behind me. Soft footfalls against dead, wet leaves. I stop short and hear a light growl. I curse to myself quietly and eye the closest tree. Its a short distance away, and there is a low hanging branch large enough to hold my weight.

I feel my legs tense to run. I hold my breath as I dart forward. I hear a snarl behind me as I jump for the branch. My fingers struggle for a hand hold against the rough bark and my heart jumps into my throat for an instant. My feet crawl up the branch as I collapse against the trunk, struggling for air. A wild dog snaps at me while salivating around the base of the trunk. Foam gathers at the corners of his lips. His yellow eyes follow me, almost blind with rage. I carefully pull an arrow from my back and thread it through my bow.

It only takes a few moments to find a clean shot. He falls with a soft yelp as my arrow finds his eye. I drop to the ground when I am sure he has stopped moving. I approach him carefully, crouching as I run my fingers through its reddish brown fur. I let out a sigh as I begin cleaning and gutting. The meat would be no good, really, but the pelt is perfect for lining the inside of gloves for winter.

The clouds above have cracked, letting in the warm early afternoon sun. I have stripped my jacket off and still have to mop the sweat from my brow. I slip the pelt into my bag. I gather my things and wipe the stray blood droplets from my neck and chest. My fingertips are stained and I am exhausted, but happy.

I am wondering around, through the afternoon light when I step into the meadow overlooking the valley. I don't know how I didn't realize where I was. I make my way over to the rock where gale and I would squeeze together. The opening seems too vast, too empty.

I sit there for a long time by myself, watching the sun melt into the evening sky. It sends shards of reds and golds and pinks glinting against the blue sky. I hawk glides through the air and gives a sharp war cry. Everywhere the silence threatens to choke me.

"May the odds be..." I whisper. Nothing, just hollow silence. After a tense moment I sling my bag over my shoulder and turn to leave.

I make it back into town before the last of the light had disappeared. I find Peeta near the rubble of the bakery. He is moving some bricks, ash in his hair and smeared against his cheek. I watch his honey colored hair catch in the sun and flicker like candlelight. He straightens up and places his hands on his hips. Surveying the view around him. I slip up to him unnoticed and trace my fingers against his hand. He laces his fingers through mine without turning to look at me. "Hello, Katniss." he whispers with a smile.

"What are you doing out here so late?" I ask lightly. He turns finally to look at me. He reaches up and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face.

"I was surveying the damage, seeing if there is anything I could salvage from this." He gestures around him with his free hand. He turns and looks back at his childhood home, and for the briefest of moments a sadness slips into his eyes, almost unnoticed. "I don't think there is much, I need to talk to Haymitch to find out how to order new ovens from um, from..." he trails off.

"The Capitol?" I offer softly. He smiles and wipes his eyes tiredly.

"Yeah." We stand in silence for a moment. Suddenly I am wrapped in a hug. His arms lift me up until my feet dangle off the ground. He kisses my neck and I can help but smile. A family out and about stop and point, they smile widely, the small girl with them claps even. He lets me go and I hide my face against his chest shyly as he waves. They wave back enthusiastically.

Once we are home I hand Peeta a skinned rabbit. I help him chop wild onions and carrots for stew. Before I know it my stomach is growling at the smell of fresh cheesebuns and wild rabbit soup. We eat in comfortable silence, as Peeta begins drawing up new plans for his new bakery. I wash the dishes and ladle out a bowl of soup for Haymitch. By the time I am done darkness has encroached and the moon is full and bright over our house.

I am cleaning my game at the table when the phone rings again. My hands immediately freeze. Peeta looks at my face carefully, studying the creases in my forehead.

"Maybe you should answer it?" he suggests. This is enough to bring me up for air. I shake my head and continue with the knife in my hand. I pull the squirrels fur from it in a one fluid motion.

"It could be your mother." he offers softly, looking down at the papers in front of him. "She must miss you something terrible."

"I have nothing to say to her." I say flatly, "I don't think she has anything to say to me." I have an image of her slipping me a candy from her apron. It was an old memory and covered in dust from age and disuse. I shake the image from my head.

"It could be Dr. Aurelius." he starts again. "He says-"

"Nothing he says could possibly help me!" I shout, slamming my fist against the table. He snaps his mouth shut and leans back, studying my face carefully. I force myself to breath normally. "I'm sorry." I stammer after a moment. He stands and rubs his hand through his hair.

"I'm quite tired, I think I'll go to bed." he turns on his heel to leave.

"Peeta!" He stops but doesn't turn to face me.

"Yeah?" his voice holds no anger, no frustration, just a weariness that he seems to wear down to his bones. Truth was I had nothing to say after his name.

"Goodnight." I mumble softly, he turns and smiles stiffly. He makes his way up the stairs slowly. I sigh and lean back into my chair, my chin trembling softly. I let my knife fall from my fingers, it lands on the floor with a clank. My eyebrows knit together and I shove my chair away from the table. I make my way up to the room, and pause at the door, leaning my head against the cool wood. I can hear Peeta moving around the room.

I open the door as he is pulling off his shirt. He doesn't turn to look at me and I force myself to move past him to the bathroom where I draw a hot bath. I peel my clothes from my cold skin and stare at myself in the mirror. I stare at the jagged scars that inch their way across my flat stomach. Small cuts are scarring on top of them. I listen for Peeta, when I am sure he has turned off the light and crawled into bed, I lock the door. I pull a small pocketknife from the bathroom drawer and slice small cuts into my ribcage.

I feel a familiar release inside of me. A tension that I didn't know I was carrying. I let out a soft sigh and stare at the steam rising off of my bathwater. Blood trickles down my skin and dries there, cracking and staining my skin copper. Finally, I step into the bath, wincing as it hits the small shallow wounds. I count my scars to pass the time, and when the water turns cold I step into a towel and slip a shirt on over my head.

Peeta's breathing is ragged, his face dripping with sweat. I immediately rush to the bed. His knuckles grip the blankets, white as bleached bone. I run my fingers through his hair and murmur soothing noises at him. He says something I can't quite make out, I lean forward to hear him better.

His eyes shoot open, bright blue in the moonlight. I don't have time to register much before his hand grips my wrist and twists it. I cry out involuntarily and kick him away from me. He snaps out of it quickly and releases me. I stumble from the bed and land with my back to the wall.

He blinks at me for a moment, looking around himself carefully, before meeting my eyes apologetically. "I um, I'm sorry Katniss..." he climbs out of bed, wearing nothing but flannel sleep pants, his blond hair mussed and wild around his face. I stare down at my wrist, purple and swelling. I don't say anything to him as he pulls it into his lap and inspects it closely.

I can't read his face as he kisses my wrist. We don't speak at all. We listen to the silence of night as he rubs soft circles into the back of my hand.

"You were doing so well." I say softly, I try to hide the tears thick in my voice. He pulls his at the hair at the base of his neck.

"Go to sleep Katniss." he says as he stands.

"Where are you going?" My voice comes out small and squeaky. He pauses at the door.

"Just downstairs, for a little while." I nod my head, tears spilling over as he opens the door. "Hey," I raise my head to look at him. "I'll be here, I promise." The door shuts behind him with a soft click.

In the morning I awaken to the sound of rain pounding on the roof. I hear soft voices from downstairs. I find a ratty robe of my mothers, the color of a dusty rose. I always thought it was hideous, but it echoes my mothers smell, and is soft and warm. Its far to large for me but I double knot the belt and make my way downstairs. The smell of chocolate overwhelms me, my stomach flips. Peeta is sitting at the table, his face wearing an expression I can't quite read. My wrist is stiff but the bruising isn't too bad. I still am careful he can't see it as I sit across from him.

Haymitch comes out from the bathroom, a bottle in his hand. He looks at me a long time before sitting next to me. I cringe at his smell as he smiles toothily at me. "Good morning, sweetheart." he comments.

I look at Peeta questioningly and he can't look me in the eyes. "Listen, Katniss..." he starts setting his hands carefully on the table. I stare at the backs of his pale hands as he begins to speak. A lump already gathering in my throat.

"I spoke to Dr. Aurelius last night, and he thinks it best we go to the capitol and have some more tests run on me." I am already shaking my head.

"No, No we can't, we can't go there." I stammer, fidgeting with the hem of my robe where it had started to come apart. "No," I whisper again, my voice small and squeaky again. "No, No." I say over and over. My head shaking in a small rhythmic fashion.

"Katniss, when I say we." My eyes shoot up quickly, forcing him to look me in the eyes as he says it. "I mean Haymitch and I." I swallow hard and nod, anger flashing through me.

"Right, because I can't leave the district." I snap, Peeta huffs in frustration.

"Because you're crazy." Haymitch chimes in, I glare at him for a long time before turning back to Peeta.

"You can't go back to that place!" I shout lividly, my anger swelling the more I thought about it. "Its filled with mutts!" tears of anger are pouring down my face freely. "I can't believe you didn't even think to consult me!"

"Consult you? Katniss would you listen to yourself?" His voice starts to rise. "Everyday I feel so scared that I am going to do something I am not control of!" He grabs my shoulders firmly, his hands wrap easily around my shoulders. "That I could kill you! Do you know what that would do to me?! I can't hurt you Kat! I can't!" both of us are crying, I stare down at the plate of muffins on the table. I think of Gale, his gray eyes begging me to shoot him as he was drug inside of that house by the peacekeeper. The look in Finnicks eyes as the mutt tore into his throat. Boggs laying in a pool of his own blood.

Before I know what I am doing I lift the plate of muffins and throw them at Peeta. He slides out of the way as the plate shatters against the wall. Haymitch sits at his place at the table, sipping his white liquor and staring at the emptiness between us. Peeta and I just eye each other warily. After a few moments I turn and stomp up the stairs, as I am about to shut the door I hear Haymitch mutter flatly, "That went better than I thought."

I climb into my bed and sob into my pillow. After I cry myself out I stare out into nothing. I struggle to feel anything at all. My eyes are sore and my insides feel like a ghost town. My muscles are tired and weak. Everything is soft and muted and quiet. This numbness is a blessing and a curse at the same time. I want to be angry, but its too much work, so I close my eyes and shut the world out.

The sky is a brilliant shade of red, as the sun descends to night. I am standing on a rusted train, looking out over the district. I look over at Gale, he sits with his back to me. I can't help but smile as I move to sit next to him.

He looks a little startled to see me but hands me a half of a roll as I settle in against him.

"Hey Catnip." he quips, shielding his eyes against the sun. His face looks years older than I remember. His hands rough and callous. I smile widely, its been years since I have felt this at ease.

"Gale, what you doing up here?" I ask taking a bite of my roll and leaning closer to his heat. 

"I'm here to watch the show." He says just as something in the sky catches my eye. A bird, with large wings gliding through the red sky. It sails effortlessly with the wind. I am reminded of Prim, I feel a lump in my throat as what he says registers in my head. Show?

"Show? What show." He looks at me fondly, bouncing a fingertip off of the tip of my nose. I can't help but stare into his charcoal eyes, smoldering with heat underneath the silver. Fire, Hatred.

Heat and Fire crash against us as the district is engulfed in flames and ash. I turn to look at him with hate and distrust. He is burning, skin on half of his face melting. "Gale." I say barely a whisper. He dissolves slowly in the flames as I watch, my heart feels nothing but hatred for him as I turn to watch the carnage around me. My heart sinks at the silence. No screams, only quiet. Somehow I know I am the only one left. 

I look into the sky and I see the bird, she still glides silently against the red backdrop of the sky, safe from harm.

Peeta is running his fingers through my hair when I wake up. My muscles are stiff and I whimper when I try to sit up and bear my weight on my wrist. I look at Peeta quietly as he looks at me. Finally, he casts his eyes downward, twiddling his thumbs nervously. The sky is dark gray and angry outside, thunder calls out curses, shaking the windows. Lightning illuminates the sky a few moments later.

"You were saying Gale's name in your sleep." He says evenly, meeting my eyes.

"Bad dream is all." I explain as another clap of thunder roars. We both startle and cower. I open the blankets in offering and he accepts readily. Climbing in and settling against me. Buttercup comes in mewing pathetically, He darts onto the bed, settling against my feet.

We lay there, not talking listening to the rain against the windows. I shut my eyes and manage a few minutes of peaceful sleep before the thunder scared me awake. Peeta whispered soft, soothing words into my hair as I pulled him closer.

"I'm sorry that I am leaving." He whispers sometime in the night. "I really think its best."

"I don't." I say flatly, my chin jutting out stubbornly. He chuckles against my hair.

"I know." I turn to face him, pressing my lips against his softly at first, and then with more fire. I feel a heat spreading through my chest as his fingers tangle with my hair and he rolls on top of me.

He looks into my eyes for a long time. Every part of us are pressed together. I was waiting for the moment when he would push away, it didn't come. He kissed his way down my neck and chest. My breath hitched in my throat as he pushed his hand up my shirt softly. When he pulled the fabric over my head his breath stops and his fingers trace the lines on my ribcage, the neat little cuts I had made on myself.

"Katniss," He whispers, his voice catching. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

I open my mouth to speak, the silence enveloping me. I feel so alone all of a sudden. He is looking at me expectantly and I just want to hide. I cover myself with the sheet and look away from his gaze.

"Every time I look in the mirror, and I look into my eyes, all I see is hell." I whisper so faintly, I fear he didn't hear it. I don't have the strength to say it again. He kisses my hair and pulls me into his chest.

"Funny thing, when I look into your eyes, I see heaven." He says with his voice unwavering.

The next day the rain has turned to just a drizzle. I am still without my shirt, and Peeta is gone and for a moment my stomach sinks. I find my shirt tangled with the blankets and pull it over my head as I rush downstairs. I let out a sigh of relief as I find Peeta on the couch, packing a small suitcase with a few shirts and pants. His Journal is tucked safely inside and his pill bottles and comb, all arranged neatly among his clothes.

"Are you leaving today?" I ask nearing frantic, my heart hammering against my chest.

"This evening, I figure, sooner I leave the sooner I'll be back, right?" I feel panic rising in me. He walks over to where I stand limply on the stairs. He smiles at me and closes his hands around my cheeks as he plants a kiss on my nose. "Everything is going to be okay, better than okay, I promise." All I feel is panic oozing through my veins. I nod my head and try to smile. "While I am gone," he says moving past me to get something from upstairs. "Maybe you should think about calling your mother, or Dr. Aurelius... just think about it." He finishes his thought as he appears at the top of the stairs.

"Okay." I say flatly, he smiles at me, enveloping me in a hug that I can barely return. All I feel is dread creeping through me like fog, swallowing everything in its path.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, running his hands down my arms.

"Stay with me?" I say matter of factly, his face falls slightly.

"Always." he reassures me, giving me a crooked smile that doesn't meet his eyes.

"Don't go." I try again, my vision filled with lizard mutts and gunfire. I feel my limbs go numb and firecrackers going off in my brain like a hail of gunfire.

"Hey, Hey..." he soothes pressing me against his chest again. I push him away as light overtakes my vision. I hear my labored breathing but I don't feel it. I feel like I am weightless, staring down above my body. Not real. Not real. Not real. I chant over and over again in my head. When I look up at Peeta he is staring at me with concern in his cornflower blue eyes. I raise my hand to wave it off but I fall into a sitting position on the stairs instead. I rest my forehead on my knee and crush my hands against my ears.

"It's only two weeks Kat, I'll be back before you know it." I look up into his eyes and pull him with his shirt towards me, taking in the smell of flour and icing and rosemary.

"Don't go." I repeat, a broken record at this point.

"I have to, Kat." He holds me for a while. Then he gets up and makes me a plate of food. Silently he lifts me from the stairs and carries me to the kitchen. He sets me in front of a plate heaping with eggs and sausage and toast. He stares at me until I begin to eat, begrudgingly shoveling eggs into my mouth, not tasting any of it.

I sit at the living room window, watching rain drip down the windowpane. I stay there until Haymitch arrives to take Peeta to the train. He walks through the door wordlessly, casting a dark look in my direction. He looks surprisingly sober and clean. His hair is neatly combed and his suit is wrinkled, but stain free. He eyes me for a moment before opening the breast of his jacket, revealing a flask tucked in the pocket. He shoots me a wry smile.

"All set, Boy?" he asks softly as Peeta appears at the top of the stairs.

"I think so," Peeta takes a look around as if taking stock of the room around him.

I stand awkwardly, my hands wringing together uselessly. Peeta catches my movement and walks towards me.

We stare at each other for a moment before he grabs me and hugs me so tight I can't breathe.

I try not to look him in the eyes as he kisses my forehead. "I asked Greasy Sae to look in on you."

"I'm not a child." I snap, "I've been through two hunger games and a war, I think I can feed myself." He chuckles flatly.

"I just thought you could use some company is all." he explains, "and if I promise to call will you answer the phone?" he asks with a sly smile.

"Probably not." I quip tersely, looking everywhere but him.

"Fair enough." he mutters under his breath. Tears threaten to pour down my face. "Okay, well. I love you Katniss. I'll call you when I get there, even though you won't answer the phone." He says, kissing me softly. Haymitch rolls his eyes.

"Come on Boy, we have to go." I grab his hand so hard I am afraid it will break in my grasp, I can't seem to loosen my hold. The inside of my hand is clammy and sweaty. He struggles to break away from me.

"Kat, let go." his voice echoes in my head as I lose my grip on him.

"I can't." I say so quietly he doesn't hear me.

He give me a quick, soft kiss as I stare at the floor. I count the lines in the wood until I hear the door click behind me. When I lift my face all I feel around me is emptiness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers in your hair – The Lumineers
> 
> You're my girl – Fairground Lights
> 
> Don't be afraid – Lee DeWyse
> 
> Promise – Ben Howard
> 
> Bottled up tight – Luke Sital Singh
> 
> Slow it down – The Lumineers

I listen to the rain from my doorway as it hammers against my steps, maybe it would have made Peeta's absence easier if it wasn't pouring buckets. I can't disappear into the woods all day, I can't go into town, I can't even go over to Haymitch's house. I am stuck with an equally unhappy Buttercup for company, he whines pathetically at my side next to the door jam. I whittle a new arrow to keep my hands busy but I still feel the emptiness that encroaches on me mercilessly. Greasy Sae and her Granddaughter had stopped in earlier, when the rain was slow, the had brought me enough stew for a few days. I thanked them but my sour mood dampened the gesture and they left as quickly as they had come, I couldn't blame them necessarily.

Its been three days since Peeta left and I am just getting adjusted to the quiet, to the empty kitchen. The first night I slept on the stairs, tears dripping pitiably down my face, snot dripping down my nose. Buttercup had curled up against my stomach as I tired myself out. I wrapped my arms around him and stared out into the darkened living room. I have barely slept and my eyes feel heavy, I fight sleep vehemently. I am in no mood for the nightmares and knowing there is no one here to soothe me afterward leaves me with a dank feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, so I stand to brew some coffee and stretch my legs.

I start my water boiling and find an apple in the cupboard and nibble it, exhausted, I only take a bite or two before abandoning it on the counter and pacing back and forth through the house silently. The phone snaps me out of my head as it shatters the silence with its wail. I stare at it a long second, chewing on my lip with uncertainty. I have to fight my urge to let it ring for too long, it might be Peeta. I pick up the receiver, pausing for a long minute before raising it to my ear, terror rising in my throat as I struggle to croak out a soft "Hello?" barely audible, the feeling of hope outweighing the fear in my heart that it might not be him.

"You answered!" his voice seemed relieved and tense at the same time. I fight back my own alleviated smile.

"Peeta," I say, and hesitate not sure what to say next.

"You sound horrible." he says with a small laugh. My eyebrows knit together angrily.

"If you're going to insult me I can hang up." I state, annoyance thick in my voice. At this he gives another small chuckle before backtracking.

"I didn't mean it, Kat, I'm sorry." He sounds lighter than he has in a while, I can't help but wonder if it is being away from me, from being away from the nightmares and the worry. I feel more insecure, my stomach dropping.

"How was your train ride?" I ask trying to mask my hurt and confusion. I can tell he hears it from the way his voice changes ever so slightly.

"It was long, I couldn't wait to call you." I nod as if he see me and clear my throat. "You won't believe who I saw when I got here."

"Who?" I rack my brain for familiar faces, in the end I give up, I can barely remember my own name these days.

"Johanna." I swallow hard, I try to think of the last time I saw her, what her face looked like exactly, but all I remember is the hollow girl who was returned from the capital. The bruises that lined her thin and brittle body. I close my eyes and fight away the bile in the back of my throat.

"How is she?" I try to fight back my growing urge to scream, I feel like Peeta is in the wolves den. "Is she okay?" my voice breaks, I try to swallow it down before he notices.

"She's surviving, just like the rest of us I suppose, I do have to say it was nice to see a familiar face here."

"Where is Haymitch?" I ask flatly, after all isn't he suppose to be watching after Peeta?

"Haymitch found the first tavern he could and hasn't been seen since, I suppose I will have to track him down after I get off the phone with you." He says this almost lightly as if it were a joke. I am not so convinced, I just shake my head.

"Its really good to hear your voice, Kat." he says after a long beat of quiet.

I don't say anything for another two beats, he lets out a soft sigh, I could see the expression on his face, the way he must be pulling at his hair with frustration and worry. "I love you." he adds as a whispered afterthought.

I know that all of my emotions are mixed inside of me, knotting up my organs and making me sick. The rain is so loud in my ears I can't think. All I feel around me is this hollow empty house, I have heard him say it a million times and yet this time, it feels different, less childish somehow, like we have grown. The only problem is I can't tell if we have grown together or apart, I still can't say it, even though half of my brain is screaming at me to say it clearly and loudly. I open my mouth to speak but words won't come. I let too much time pass, he is hurt and I can feel it through the phone.

"I guess I should go." he says gently, I swear I hear his voice founder.

"Peeta," I scramble to explain myself but I can't, "Peeta please."

"No, Its okay, sweetheart." I cringe, that name sends a wave of irritation shooting up my spine. "I need to be finding Haymitch anyway, I'll call you tomorrow, I promise."I sigh as the phone go silent on the other end. I set the phone gently down and I take a seat at the table. Buttercup looks over at me from the door that I had left open, he mews at me once before running to the couch as I shut the door and turn on the light. I look around my empty house. I feel the familiar stain spreading through me, the feeling of my emotions piling inside of me, threatening to split me at the seams. I head to the bathroom and sit on the toilet seat, lifting my shirt to make those small, shallow cuts on my ribcage, scar over scar. I raise the pocketknife to make the first tiny cut, I hesitate, my heart racing in my chest. For whatever reason, I toss the pocketknife into the sink as if it is made of fire, I keep hearing Peeta's voice beating inside of my head. Try as I might I can't do this tonight, I climb my stairs and crawl into my bed.

I don't sleep, I am too afraid of nightmares for that, but I let my body rest while my mind wanders. I think about Peeta and the way his voice cracked at the end of our conversation. I try to drown out the sound of it but it rings in my head. For the first time, I can honestly say I believed him when those words gently lilted from his throat. It was like a balm rushing over me and fire burning me from the inside, all at the same time. It filled me up and made me empty. I cover my head in my pillow trying to drown out the image of his crestfallen face that I can see so clearly in my mind. I know I have hurt him so much, it makes me feel so much worse.

I awaken early in the morning, the first soft rays of light are drifting through the windows, I start and jump, realizing I had fallen asleep. My face is covered in sweat and my limbs are sore, but if I had a nightmare in the night I don't remember it. I struggle to even my breathing and calm my pounding heart as I lean against the lip of my bed panting uselessly. Buttercup meows at my feet, circling my legs, I pet him absentmindedly as I admire the buttery light, I peek through my curtains as I delightedly realize the clouds have parted and the rain has eased.

I dress as quickly as I can pulling on my boots at the foot of the stairs and grabbing my bow and quiver from their new home by the door. I feel almost giddy as I raise my face to the sun. My fathers jacket keeps the cool fall air at bay and I practically run through town, past the fence, only slowing when I was deep into the crisp woods, walking along a trail my feet had long cut into the bracken and dead leaves.

I spend the morning collecting tubers and herbs near the lake. I even catch a pheasant that happens to cross my path, soon my game bag is filled with squirrel and a duck. I lounge by the lake until mid afternoon when the sky began to darken again. I make the trek home singing to myself softly. I make it to the main road in town as the first soft sprinkles of rain began, passing Thom along the way, I offer him some squirrel as he heads home after his day of clearing out the rubble from the mayors house. I try not to think of Madge and her sick mother as he makes small talk with me, I think of strawberries instead, and how much Madge loved them.

I've lost my energy by the time I arrive home. Still, I force myself to clean my game and freeze the pheasant and duck, thinking Peeta might like it for dinner when he arrives home. I pace around at the thought of him, the ease from the morning is gone. I force down some cold stew that I had in the icebox and sit on the couch, wrapping a blanket around my feet I flick on the TV as a distraction. I was never much for the thing, but my mind was fluttering and uneasy. I rested my head and stared at the light radiating from the television numbly. I wait for the phone to ring absentmindedly, but it doesn't so I lose the fight against my heavy eyelids and shut my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, because when I hear it my eyes snapped open and it was completely dark throughout the house.

I hear it before my eyes can adjust, my body already crawling toward the TV to see better. I touch my fingertips to the screen over his face, I shut my eyes as tears spill over and onto my cheeks. In this moment I am so happy that Peeta isn't here to see this. I don't know why, it feels like such a betrayal to him to be pressing my face into the TV set and missing Gale as much as I am right now. Even with all of my hatred in my heart that is reserved just for him, the sound of his voice soothes another part of me, a part of me that aches for his familiarity.

I try to focus on what he is saying, I see he is in a high ranking military uniform, talking about how the districts rebuilding is coming along, he smiles with ease. I wonder about Rory, and Vick and sweet little Posey, his mother Hazelle. I wonder how they are faring, and if they will ever return to twelve. I wrap my fists into my hair as I try to memorize his face, etch it into my memory and hold it there. The woman interviewing him asks if he will ever return to his home district. He pauses for an instant, someone who didn't know him wouldn't have even noticed the way his lips pursed together slightly, before his eyes fell to a spot on the ground. "No, I don't think so." his voice holds no sadness, just conviction. As quickly as he came, he was gone. I was left sitting on the floor as an advertisement came on for skin cream. I shut off the Television and trudged up the stairs to my bed.

For the first time in a long time I didn't fight sleep, I felt I deserved to live in my nightmares, alone. I could imagine the look Peeta would have worn on his face if he had seen my display tonight, and that betrayal swims through my blood stream. I give a small look to the phone before curling my face into my pillow and shutting my weary eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist
> 
> Landlocked Blues – Bright eyes
> 
> Winter – Joshua Radin
> 
> Promise – Ben Howard
> 
> The Crooked Kind – Radical Face
> 
> Riptide – Vance Joy
> 
> We all go the same – Radical Face

The sky is a violent, fretful tangerine, enveloping everything around it, I choke on its warmth. I am standing in the meadow, the valley laid out before me. Everything looks remarkably peaceful, like this pain in my chest is a product of my imagination, like this war never ripped me apart at my seams, like I am halfway whole. I feel the emptiness spreading through me, pulsing out from my core and draining into my arms and legs. I feel someone standing next to me, but we have no need to talk, so I remain silent. I have no room in my head for small talk. I shut my eyes as a gentle, hot wind gusts over me. The sky is alive in reds and oranges. I think that Peeta could paint a better sunset with his eyes shut, and I give myself the softest of smiles at the thought of him. I kneel in the soft knee high grass resting my hands behind my head, I shut my eyes and almost immediately I see fragments of the war behind my eyes. Smoke and fire, two blonde braids, a ducktail... nothing. 

"It's okay, Katniss." a voice echoes next to me, my eyes shoot open with surprise. His smile is as reassuring as ever. His eyes resonate a soft gray, so similar to mine, crows feet crinkling when he smiles. A fine layer of coal dust is settled into every small wrinkle and pore. I let out a soft, surprised squeal and sit up. He smiles at this and runs a weathered hand through his chestnut hair. He looks out into the distance, not at me, never at me. My whole being vibrates at the sight of him, whole, next to me, oh so whole! I want to let out a delighted giggle, I want to sob, I want to wrap my hands around his neck and have him lift me up like he did when I was a small child. I need his comfort so much right now. I muster all of my strength, all of the fight in my small body. I open my mouth to say loudly and clearly, all of my insecurities, all of the suffering I have felt since he left, all that comes is a broken and hopeful, "Daddy?" 

He still doesn't look at me, his eyes just out of my grasp. A bird looms on the horizon. She is brilliantly white against the vivid, bloodied sunset. I watch her lilt through the clouds as soft and gentle as always. I feel at home, at peace, I could live here forever. I want to shut my eyes, this is as close to home as I have felt since before my father died.

"You can't stay here." he says finally, his voice deeper than I remember. I relish in it. "It will be morning soon, and we can't help you any baby." He watches his hands as he speaks. Why won't he look at me? 

"I can," I say softly, my voice hoarse and cracked. "I can stay with you, I'll stay here." It seems like the easiest thing in the world for me, to live in this summery heat forever. 

"My sweet Katniss, don't let this fire consume you too." its a plea, coming urgently from his chapped lips. "Its already taken so much." he watches the bird in wistful silence.

I am suddenly standing at the entrance to the mine, the darkness threatening to swallow me. I know he is near, the smell of damp earth gags me as I wait. I feel him in there, if only I had the courage to step into the bleakness in front of me. I look up to see the small, white bird is tangled in the telephone wires above my head. She coo's, frightened and bleeding, waiting for help that I can't provide. I fall to my knees as the smell of smoke fills my lungs.

I cry out to her, completely helpless, my voice ragged as I plead with her to hold on. I find a telephone pole and begin to climb, my fingers struggle to find purchase against the splintered wooden surface, it cuts into my fingers as I struggle. I have barely made any progress when a gust of heat and ash ram against me, knocking me to the ground again. I look up to see the entrance to the mine is crumpled in. I swallow a scream as I look up, the white bird is hanging limply from the wire. Despair wells deep within me. I lost them both, it consumes me in hate and emptiness. "I'm Sorry!" I scream, "I couldn't save you, I never could!" 

I awaken in a tangle of sheets and tear stained pillows, my breathing hitching in my throat, sobs echoing out of my chest painfully. I curl into myself, my knees shoved into my chest. I am shaking violently, the voices of ghosts wailing in my skull. I scream and scream, until my voice has run out, only then do I allow my sobbing to slow into soft whimpers, and from whimpers they die into soft hiccups. I don't try to move, I just lie there, living in my memories of the dead. The rain pounding against my roof. I reach behind me as a reflex, searching for Peeta's hand, but only find emptiness and it sends me into another sobbing fit.

Morning comes slowly, I finally force myself to stand, letting my blood settle back into my arms and legs as I ward away the dizziness that comes with only a few hours of sleep. I suck in slow, deep breaths and bite back bile. I dress slowly, a feeble attempt to awaken my sore muscles. I grab my fathers jacket from where it rests on the hook on the back of my door. I hold it at arms length, studying every crease in the velvety leather. I raise the collar to my nose and inhale the smell of woodsmoke and pine. Everything familiar and sweet in my life is wrapped in that soft smell. Tears streak my face, as I search my memory for the color of my fathers eyes, grey and seam, like mine. Yet, they had a warmth all their own, a shade that was all his own, for the life of me I cannot remember it. I gingerly replace his jacket, I don't deserve to wear it today, not when his eyes are so far from my grasp.

Greasy Sae is already in the kitchen, hard at work on eggs and pancakes. She smiles up at me as I descend the stairs, my hair plaited into two small braids that barely reach my neck. Her granddaughter giggles as she teases Buttercup with a piece of yarn, I pat her head fondly as I pass her and start a fire in the hearth.

"Going out today dear?" Sae asks absentmindedly as she plates up three servings of eggs and slides a pancake on each plate, scooping a heap of strawberries on each, finally she sprinkles cinnamon on each.

"Are those strawberries?" I ask sliding into a seat behind a plate, completely ignoring her question. She smiles a toothless grin.

"They opened a stand for fresh vegetables down by where the hob was." I can't help but grin back at her as she dishes up some blueberries onto my plate and sets a bottle of syrup in front of me. "Now eat girl!" she demands as I push my food around the plate with my fork half heartedly.

"The boy should be back soon?" she questions as she sets her granddaughter in front of a plate. The child eats greedily, talking to an old apple doll she carries around with her everywhere.

"Maybe," I say swallowing a small bite of my eggs and despite myself it sounds sad. If Sae noticed, she says nothing.

"He'll be home before you know it, dear." she says reassuringly, patting my arm as she begins to gather the dishes, piling them in the sink haphazardly. I watch her as she moves quietly around the kitchen, finally she gathers up her coats and scarf, bundling herself and her granddaughter against the cold, she bids me farewell. Her granddaughter reaches out and hugs my knees, smiling up at me. I can barely muster a crooked smile that fails to reach my eyes.

Mid afternoon I manage a walk into town. I am amazed at the work they have gotten done. The skeletons of buildings are being erected where the town square used to be. I marvel in the sight of the men lifting a wall up, rain pouring all around them. I can't help but feel the softest twinge of hope deep in my belly.

You'd think I would be used to people staring at me by now, but I feel a blush rising to my cheek as I move through the new marketplace. I struggle to admire bolts of fabric and small trinkets. People openly gawk at me as I move from booth to booth. I struggle to keep my breathing even as I purchase headache pills and a small bronze trident, a small trinket that as soon as I wrapped in my fingers I knew belonged to Annie Cresta.

Just as I pressed some coins into the shopkeepers fingers, I feel a gentle tug at my sleeve. I look down at a small girl staring up at me with large cocoa brown eyes, fringed with deep black eyelashes. The innocence catches me by surprise and I lean down to her level, my knee melting in mud. Her dark hair is soaked and her clothes are plastered to her small body. "Yes?" I ask my voice faltering.

"Are you Katniss?" she asks in a shy voice, I look down instinctively, something catching in my throat.

"Yes," I whisper finally meeting her eyes.

"The Mockingjay." she states with reverence in her voice. She is feeling braver, her small fingers reaching up to touch a satiny pink scar on my face, she traces it down my neck with a soft smile reaching her lips. "Beautiful." she says matter of factly. Before I can respond her mother is ushering her away, apologizing profusely, fear tracing her eyes. I sigh and stand, brushing the mud from my knee. I take in the people around me, they stare but something is at the edge of their eyes, it's fear. I stifle a sob as I turn on my heels and dash back to my house, I don't look behind me until I fling the door open.

Before I lose my courage I gather up the phone, tears staining my face and bleeding with rain water. I dial the numbers with trembling fingers. I just need to hear a reassuring voice now, someone to tell me this too shall pass.

"Dr. Aurelius's office." a somber voice utters flatly.

"Um," my courage dissipates and leaves me exhausted, my arms and legs feel like they are made of lead. "My name is Katniss Everdeen, may I speak with the doctor please?"

A short pause and I feel dizzy with anxiety, the heaviness in my chest threatening to crush me. I struggle to keep my breathing even as a silky smooth voice say my name questioningly, immediately asking if I am okay. I shake my head furiously, struggling to find my voice.

"How am I suppose to live a normal life with all of them looking at me like that?" I demand angrily. "How am I suppose to live?" I ask, the fight leaving my voice leaving it small and broken. I begin to sob vehemently, my small body shaking with the force of it. "I can't stop, I can't stop seeing them, I see their ghosts every time I shut my eyes!" He lets me cry myself out, listening without interrupting until the sobs that rack my body soften into soft hiccups. After I have fallen into a quiet reverie, my eyes exhausted and my head pounding, does he speak.

"Katniss, I am more than willing to help you, but first you need to want to be helped. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," I croak, my voice barely a whisper.

"Good, now I have to ask you Miss Everdeen, are you ready to let go?" I knit my eyebrows together at what he is insinuating. "I can only help you if you are ready to move on."

"I can't, I can't..." my face crumples at the words spilling from my lips "I can't let her... I can't let them be dead, I can't." I listen to the rain outside of my window. I whimper pathetically. "I wish it were me." I say softly, the truth echoing through my chest violently, I would never dare to say these words to Peeta, not ever.

After a promise to call in a few days, and a promise that he would be sending me some medications that will help me on the next train, I hang up the phone with a sigh. I stoke up the fire and eat some of my breakfast that I had left on table. I grab a thin blanket from the back of a chair and crawl onto the couch in my soaked clothes and shut my eyes, praying for a few hours of sleep without horror.

My father lifts my elbow as I pull my bowstring taut. He circles me watching my posture with a keen eye. I smell the woods all around us, the scent of pine and rotting leaves, and stagnant lake water. I can feel his strength wrapping around me. "Lift your chin." he nods in approval and smiles slightly, "Good, now spread your feet out a little more." I do as I am told the bowstring shaking in my nervous fingers. "Alright, keep your elbow raised, girl." I look to him, our gray eyes meeting. They are what I fought to remember. The life in them, the flex of gold embedded in the gray, the ring of steely blue wrapped around the steely charcoal. "Don't look at me!" he laughs, touching my shoulder and pointing to a can he had set on an abandoned fence post a few yards away. "Keep your eye on your target." I am focused, fierce, I smile and stare at the can. "Good," he praises in his gentle voice, it hums around me. "Now, take in a deep breath and as you exhale, release..." I do as I am told, letting my arrow whistle through the air. I feel my lungs deflate when it hits a tree a few yards from its target.

I stamp my foot dejectedly and throw my bow to the ground. I hear my father's throaty laugh from behind me. "Its okay, sweet Katniss, when you fail, you have to just try again." he kisses my forehead and runs to retrieve my arrow.

Above us is the white bird, she sails silently on the cold November air, I can't help but look at her and smile.

I snap awake and sigh, I am filled a wistful peace. I know it won't last but I revel in it. I shut my eyes and fall into the first peaceful sleep I have had since Peeta left.


	11. Chapter 11

I'm running through the woods, my heart pounding in my chest as heavy as a hammer. I see her blond braids in bobbing in front of me and I am smiling, desperate to catch up. I call her name over and over, a smile in my voice. Her duck tail is hanging out of her skirt, of course. She moves lithe as a cat through the bracken and brush, I am having trouble keeping up. I try to tell her to slow down, but it seems my voice is catching in my throat. The sky is cloudless and a bright, cornflower blue. I see the small silver cylinders before she does, my smile falters as I stare at the parachutes raining down softly. "No," I say softly, its too late she's seen them her face bright with surprise.

"Prim no!" I shout as her fingers clasp against it and twist it open. "Primrose!" I scream, struggling against the thick brush to get to her, my boots impossibly caught in a blackberry thicket. 

Its too late, it explodes catching the trees and dry grass around her. She is burning, and my woods are burning, smoke choking all the words out of my mouth. I rush towards her my feet stumbling, I fall to the ground, my face hitting the earth painfully, my tears mixing with the dirt and ash. "Don't forgive me." I whisper into the mud, "Please, don't forgive me..."

I awaken on the hardwood floor the breath knocked out of my chest. My chest heaves, air trying to catch purchase in my lungs. It takes me a moment to realize I am wailing, loud and long. My hip is surely bruised and my eyes are swollen and sore, like I had cried myself out long ago. It's dark, the moonlight hidden by clouds, my room as cold as a tomb. I stay on the floor for hours, my ribcage worn to the point of pain, my skin raw and tender against the cool wood floor. I cringe with the effort of bringing my knees to my chest. My feet are still tangled in the sheet, now puddled on the floor next to me. I chew on my nails and stair into the darkness, tears pouring down my face silently.

Her face was so vivid in my dream, now I struggle to remember what she looked like. I try to recall the spray of freckles across her pale neck, I mean did I ever actually look at it? Was she ever really here at all? Her voice is lost to me right now, her sweet lilting songs as we sang together next to the kitchen fire on our old decaying mattress, huddled under a single blanket, sharing body heat. Its gone now, fading from view. Its so dark inside of this room and all I want is to dissolve into ashes and blood, like my sweet, small sister. It would be such a respite from this heaviness in my chest. I slowly move my dense, doughy limbs until I am completely hidden under my bed.

Buttercup finds me sometime in the night and lays against my feet, offering a small comfort only he could. I do not sleep again, though my tear logged body screams out for its relief, I will not allow myself the solace. I stay pressed into the floor until morning light begins seeping through the window.

Peeta comes home today, I haven't spoken to him since he called me, its been 3 weeks and his voice is almost as lost to me as my darling sister. I'd feel giddy if I wasn't utterly exhausted in my sadness. I force myself to shower, staying under the warm stream of water until it runs cold. I wrap myself in a threadbare towel and stare into my closet, wanting to look pretty when I meet the train. I find a pale pink sundress in the back of the closet and pair it with sandals the color of chocolate. I separate my short hair into two small braids that graze my collarbone. I stare at myself in the mirror for a long while, the scars that snake up my arms and legs, an angry pink. I sigh before changing into a worn pair of jeans and one of my fathers old sweaters the color of fresh pine needles. I shove on my fathers jacket and wrap a scarf around my neck. I try to smile at myself in the mirror, but its so faked it breaks my heart. Oh well, I think to myself, at least the worst of the scars are covered.

I make it down the stairs and halfway out the door before exhaustion takes over. I collapse into a heap at the porch steps. I lean my head against the railing and shut my eyes for a moment. Buttercup has found me and wears a look of concern, mewling at me softly. I ignore him, trying to find the energy to stand. I grip the railing and my stomach flip flops pathetically, I fall back with a tiny whimper. The heaviness in my chest is back tenfold. I feel like someone is sitting on me. My breath comes heavy and fast and I have to duck my head between my knees to calm my spinning head.

I resolve to wait here for Peeta, counting the seconds in my head to help pass the time. I don't have the energy to raise my head so I don't, I just sit and count.

"Well, well..." A voice calls out from the street. I can feel Haymitch's eyes boring into the top of my head. I can smell him too, he wreaks of white liquor, it makes my stomach flop again.

"Go away Haymitch!" I growl, lifting my head to stare vehemently at him.

"Sweetheart! Is that anyway to greet an old friend? One you surely missed?" he cracked a sarcastic half smile at me.

"I missed you like an arrow to the eye." I snort back, my eyes shutting involuntarily.

"I was sure you'd be meeting the boy at the train, you know, young love and all." he ignores my retort and suddenly my eyes snap open, searching for Peeta.

"Where is he?" I am suddenly on my feet, halfway down the walkway, though my legs beg me to sit. "Where is he?" I insist softly, my eyes scanning the horizon.

"Relax, sweetheart, he'll be on his way soon, one leg and all." he waves me off as he turns to climb his steps, White liquor bottle drooping from his hand. I swallow hard, and turn to sit and wait. Finally, I spot his familiar silhouette, limping up the hill to the victors village. I try to run to meet him but end up walking when my muscles protest. He slows as I approach, his bag slung over his shoulder. The soft smile on his lips fade as he takes in the deep circles under my eyes, the creases in my skin.

"Welcome home," I say weakly, my voice barely rising above a whisper. I try not to cringe under his concerned stare. I suddenly feel shy as he touches my cheek, his fingers barely touching me. I flush, suddenly embarrassed as the look of concern is masked smoothly by another smile that fails to reach his eyes.

"I got you something." he states, holding out a small box with shaking fingers. "It isn't much." he adds as I finger the small black box with a logo I don't recognize embossed on the top in a intricate design of gold.

I open it and let out a gasp, touching the delicate silver chain. I small pearl the color of the clouds above, a muted silver. Its embedded in pewter leaves. I touch it gingerly, afraid it wasn't real. "Peeta," I start, my fingers trembling. "This is too much."

"Fine, give it back then." he deadpans with a playful smirk ghosting on his lips. He holds his hand out expectantly.

"No." I snap clutching it to my chest tightly. He chuckles at that, moving toward his house. "Wait, where are you going?" I ask, the heaviness returning to my chest.

"Kat, its been quite a trip, I'm gonna to shower up and rest, but I promise I will come see you for dinner." he gives me a light peck on the lips, yet it feels forced and far away, no, it feels cold leaving a stain of worry in my chest.

"Peeta?" I see the reluctance in his face, he doesn't want to meet my eyes. "What's wrong?" my stomach is fluttering furiously against my ribs.

"Nothing, Kat." he says smoothly, "I'll be at your house for dinner." he states with finality. Leaving me still clutching the necklace between my fingers in the middle of the road.

My house has never felt so empty as I shut the door behind me. I fight flashbacks of Peeta standing over me, hatred boring into my soul, Capitol Peeta, not my sweet baker, not the boy with the bread. Rain begins to fall softly, I have to fight the urge to run to the woods, no, I have to wait in this quiet for him. I have to see those cornflower blue eyes again. I shut my eyes and pray for the strength to hear the truth that is coming next. I know it deep inside of me. He has finally realized he doesn't want a fire mutt.

I sit at the table, not bothering to light a fire, though my skin prickles with cold. I rest my head on the cool wood of the table, studying every gouge and nook with unblinking eyes. The heaviness in my bones finally take over and I fall in a restless sleep.

When I awaken the room is coated in light, a fire glowing in the hearth. Peeta is shaking me lightly as I blink up at him, staving off the sleep in my eyelids. "What?" I say groggily as he chuckles, eying the necklace still clutched in my fingers.

"What would you like for dinner?" he asks evenly, pushing a stray hair from where it has fallen across my nose.

"I caught a duck the other day its in the icebox." I say pushing myself up to a sitting position.

"Sounds good, how about I make some potatoes and gravy to go with that?" he asks with a soft smile, his eyes are still dark, enveloped in something I can't place. Frustration and worry shoot up my spine.

"How was the Capitol?" I ask, my voice hedging slightly, I am scared he has an answer I don't want to hear.

"It was hard to be back," he answers honestly, "But the good doctor gave me some pills that should help, I mean my brain scans were still the same as before, no better, but no worse either, so that is good, and we talked a lot." He is pulling spices and dishes from the cupboards, his eyes not meeting mine.

I think of the pills lining my cabinet and guilt fills me, they arrived a week after I spoke to Dr Aurelius, but I lost my courage and haven't started taking them yet. One is suppose to help me sleep, the other to stabilize my moods, there is one to help with the anxiousness that buzzes through me at all times.

"What did you talk about?" I ask trying to get him to meet my eyes, he expertly avoids my gaze.

"My family," he says softly "My mother and father, my brothers, the war, therapy, my painting and writing." he gets a wistful look on his face, his eyebrows creasing slightly. "You." he adds as an afterthought.

"Me?" I question, I hear a scowl in my voice I hadn't intended. He gives a small laugh at the expression on my face. I study him for a while before I speak again. His eyes hold the same far away look, dazed and cloudy. "Why would you want to talk about me?" I huff, leaning against the chair.

"Because, like it or not Katniss, you eat up most of my days, I'm always thinking about you, worrying about you." It came out harsher than he intended, I know he didn't mean it, but it stings anyway.

"I'm sorry I'm so difficult." I snap despite myself, "Maybe you should go home if I am such a bother, I didn't ask you to come and cook me dinner." I mutter flatly, staring at the necklace that hasn't left my fingers since he gave it to me this morning.

"Come on, Katniss, I just meant." I am already up and out the door, disappearing into the night and drizzle before he can get out anything else, before I start crying in front of him. I practically run down the stone path toward Haymitch's house before he can follow me. I can hear him calling my name as I crawl through the kitchen window of the dark house. I see Haymitch's form sitting at the kitchen table, bottle of liquor in front of him as he stares blankly at the wall.

I sneak towards him, my slight frame barely casting a shadow in the faint streetlight that streams through the living room. I am almost on top of him before he has noticed me.

His knife nearly slices me across my middle when I whisper his name. I silently thank the heavens that his hand eye coordination isn't what it used to be twenty years ago. "Jesus Girl! Are you trying to kill an old man!"

"Shut up Haymitch." I mutter, moving a blanket of trash from the chair across from him.

"What do you want that you had to wake an old man like that in the middle of the night?"

"I just- wait, Haymitch, do you sleep with your eyes open?" I ask quizzically, when he doesn't answer me I continue. "What happened in the Capitol?"

"I bought a bottle of scotch older than you, girl." he says with a proud smile.

"I mean with Peeta!" I shout exasperated with him. He gives me a knowing look and leans forward, lacing his fingers together.

"You mean besides him telling you he loved you, and you saying nothing in return?"

"He's told me he loves me lots of times Haymitch, that isn't whats wrong."

Haymitch gives a long, world weary sigh, shutting his eyes like he is warding off a headache. "Are you really this dense?" he asks, I lean back in my chair and bring my knees to my chest. "There are no more hunger games Katniss, no more interviews, no more camera's, no more canons." he takes a long pull from his liquor. "He is doing everything possible to pull you out of this, and as usual, you're being selfish, refusing to even meet him half way." His words sting "He is trying to hold himself and you together, with all of his strength, sweetheart, he isn't strong enough, you have to at least try to help."

"I can't!" I scream, my voice breaking, "Its too much just waking up in the morning." I add, softly.

A knock at the front door snaps me from the tears threatening to spill down my face, Peeta. I look to Haymitch who raises his eyebrows. I hold my finger to my lips as I back away from the table slowly towards the kitchen. He rolls his eyes. "Don't you go out that window!" he threatens with a loud whisper. "Girl... Girl!" I duck out the window as quietly as I came, listening to him curse as he gets up to answer the door.

I climb the tree in the front yard and slip through my bedroom window before Peeta can return, I'm still angry with him, though most of the fight has hollowed out of me. He comes back some time later, after I have curled up against my headboard with Buttercup in my lap. I listen as he continues to chop and stir and bake downstairs. He doesn't come to check on me, though I figure he knows I am up here. After the noise dies down I hear his heavy footfalls on the stairs, after a moment he knocks tentatively on my door. "Katniss?" he asks wearily "I know your in there, I saw you on the roof." he says flatly. I roll my eyes as Buttercup meows at the sound of his voice.

I let a beat of silence go by before I answer. "Fine, come in." I mutter as buttercup jumps from my lap. He opens the door, holding a plate of food in his hand. He steps forward offering it to me. I set it next to me on the bed as he retreats back to the door, leaning against the frame. He is dressed in a navy sweater and blue jeans, he sticks his hands deep into his pockets shyly, not meeting my scrutinizing eyes.

"I'm sorry for what I said, I didn't want my homecoming to be a fight." he says softly, toeing the ground with his shoe. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know," I say, barely a whisper. Our eyes meet after what feels like forever and I feel a blush creep up my neck. He still seems far away, his eyes dim with sadness. I recognize that look now, loss. He is afraid he has lost me, are time apart has made him insecure. I am sure the fact that I am so unsure of everything I feel is part of it.

"I'm sorry too, that I can't say it." I don't have to explain to him, he knows what I mean.

"Its alright Katniss, I understand, I truly do." His eyes flutter to the floor in shame. "It doesn't make it hurt any less." I nod knowingly.

He is turning to leave, his back is to me, his shoulders sagging slightly. "But I do!" I rush out before he can get too far. "Even if I can't say it." He turns to smile at me.

"I know, my sweet girl... now eat, you've lost weight since I left." He looks at me a long time, before turning to leave, shutting the door softly behind him. I stare at the plate for a moment before pulling the necklace from the spot I hid it in my pocket. I raise it, admiring the delicate chain and simple design. I slip it around my neck and step to admire it in the mirror.

Before I know what I am doing I remove my clothes, leaving a pile at my feet. I stare at my naked body for a long time, my fingers tracing each scar softly. I don't know how long I have been here like this, naked except for the necklace, a knock at my door shoots me out of my trance with a start. "Katniss?" Peeta asks with worry.

"Come in," I whisper shakily, crossing my arms in front of my chest self consciously. He steps in and inhales sharply when he sees my slight frame. My eyes fall to the floor in shame, then I turn back to the mirror, studying his face in the reflection as he steps closer to me. I take in my form with sharp eyes. My skin is pulled taut against my bones, those ugly scars licking up my arms and legs, my neck. My shoulders are mere bones, little and fragile as a sparrow wing. He steps so close I can feel his breath against my neck. I am a ghost of a girl, as thin as a wisp of smoke, he towers over me but when he touches me with those large, calloused hands, its so gentle I barely feel it. It takes the voice right out of my throat.

"I'm s-sorry," I stammer out, only now realizing I am crying. I turn to face him, his eyes don't betray him, they are fixed firmly on mine, dark and heavy blue against my silver. "Is this what you want?" I ask desperately, my voice cracking slightly. "A fire mutt?" I turn back to the mirror, his eyes stare at me in the reflection. His fingers brush a scar at the nape of my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine. After a moment he removes his sweater reveling his own patchwork skin, pink and pallid. "This is all I will ever be, ever again." I sigh, "just a mutt."

"Then I am just a fire mutt too," he says softly, his hand grasping mine. He pulls me to him as I dissolve to tears. Our bare chests touching as her murmurs softly into my hair.

"I'm so sorry..." I stammer "I'm sorry I'm sad all of the time." My legs are jelly as he lifts me to the bed, moving the plate of forgotten food to the nightstand. He tucks the blankets around me and soothes the hair off my forehead.

"Its okay to be sad, as long as you come back to me." he kisses my forehead as I shut my eyes against the tears. "Your so beautiful Katniss, even when you cry." its the last thing I hear before my exhaustion takes me over and I succumb to feeling nothing


	12. Chapter 12

The next two weeks pass painfully slow as the pouring rain keeps me cooped up in the house. I pace with nervous energy, my hands wringing uselessly. Peeta watches me with an amused chuckle in his throat. "You know, you can always help me with rebuilding the bakery." He offers as I thumb through my plant book for the thousandth time that day. He is cooking cheese buns, a hoard of them for the hungry workers that have braved the rain to raise walls and clear more rubble and ash.

"I'm not ready." is all I say to him, and its enough. He never presses me more about it. We haven't talked about the medication I have started taking, or the fact I take my scheduled phone calls with Dr Aurelius now, in the upstairs study. Half of the time I fail to speak the entire phone call, as the Doctor snores on the other end. I don't ask Peeta about his new pills that for the first week made him so drowsy he would sleep till almost three in the afternoon.

He spends more time at his house, painting and baking, but always returns just in time to start dinner, he always sleeps next to me in my bed, his strong arms circling me protectively.

"Did you hear about the harvest festival?" he asks nonchalantly as he pulls a rack of cheese buns from the oven.

"Are they still gonna do that?" I say with a groan, "It feels a little forced considering the circumstances."

"People need it Kat, to feel like we're still a community, to give them hope, I think a celebration is just what we need..." he smiles toward where I sit on the couch. "I think you could use some fun yourself."

I snort indignantly, swallowing a bitter laugh. He shakes his head at me somewhat sadly. I watch him with guarded eyes as he loads the bread into a box, shutting the lid to keep the rain out and pulls his jacket from the closet by the stairs where it rests next to my fathers long worn out hunting jacket.

He touches the now shabby leather with his fingertips for just a moment before shutting the door tightly behind him. I stare at him for a long time, watching him lace his boots and push his hair from his eyes, seemingly stalling for an unknown reason. He seems to be warring with himself for a moment before he strides over to me, placing a long, lingering kiss on my hesitant lips. His fingers tangle in my hair, making my head spin for a moment before he releases me. His fingers stroke my chin for a moment before finally letting me go. Its the most intimate we've been since he has returned to twelve. He sighs and kisses my forehead before heading out the door without a backwards glance.

I touch my lips softly and think of the words Haymitch told me so long ago you could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve him. An idea strikes me, It rattles around in my brain for hours, as I pick at the still warm cheese bun Peeta left on the counter. It plays over and over in my head as I pour myself a mug of mint tea and head upstairs. I stare at the tightly shut door to Prims room, I stare at it so long my limbs go weak and I slide to the floor. I stare at it as I imagine boxing up her dusty things, her worn out school books, the dress I bought her when I got home from the first games, the color of a wood violet. I think of how her face brightened when she clutched it to her chest tightly. Oh Katniss, its beautiful! She had exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

My tea has long turned cold in the mug when I say her name in a shaky voice, it echoes through the empty house. I stand, stretching out my numb muscles and before I lose this small gust of courage I turn the doorknob, inhaling the dusty, unused air. Its a museum of my small sister, Peeta had long ago set to putting everything back the way it was after my tantrum in here, after he had finished he had shut it behind him and no one had stepped foot in here since.

I find a few empty boxes in the hall closet and I set to folding her clothes and boxing her few possesions. I try not to think about how she would clutch her doll to her chest in her sleep, as I set it ontop of everything else. Soon, I am staring at three boxes that hold my entire sisters life in them. I set to sweeping the cobwebs from the window and ceiling. I sweep and scrub until the room no longer holds her scent. After what has to be hours I sit on the bed numbly inhaling the sharp smell of lemon and cleaner. I lay down on the bed, surrounded by the boxes, trying to remember the smell of my sister out of her pillow and counting in my head until I hear the door downstairs open and shut.

"Kat?" Peeta calls out, his voice jagged against the quiet that hangs in the air. I sit up quickly and straighten my shirt.

"Up here!" I shout with a hoarse voice, only now realizing I've been crying. He bounds up the stairs, taking two at a time. He stops short when he catches sight of me, still in my bedclothes, hair tangled, dust smeared on my arms and face.

"Katniss?" he questions, now moving through the room carefully, as I wipe the wetness from my cheeks. He is careful not to touch anything as he stares around the room in wonder. "What is all this?"

I look up at him shyly, offering him a feeble smile. "Its your new art room." I hoped it would sound happy, but I just sound defeated. He moves a box from next to me on the bed, handling it as if it were made of glass. He sits down and grasps my fingers in his gently, rubbing soft circles in the scar tissue on my wrist.

"You didn't have to do this, you know." He look at me with sympathetic eyes.

"Yes, I did." I say flatly, "Its time." I say with finality. I try to smile at him, but I am trembling so violently I'm afraid it comes out as a grimace. "This room has the best light, its why she picked it."

He strokes my hair soothingly as he smiles pulling me to his chest as I start to sob. "It is a beautiful room." he says in a whisper. "Thank you so much." This just makes me cry harder.

"Do you think she felt any pain?" I ask after what feels like a lifetime of living in my sadness, clutched to Peeta's chest like a small child.

"No," he lies smoothly after a moment of thought. "It was over so fast." he says in a breathy voice, stroking the tears from my cheek. Flashes play across my memory, her toddling across the living room as a small child, her blonde curls bouncing behind her. My mother soothing her with a song when she was sick in bed. Us, clutched together in the dead of winter on the porch, tea in hand, under a blanket on the front porch, as we wait for father to get home from the mines. Giggling in the summer heat as we catch fireflies, her small body perfect and whole beneath the expanse of the purple night. Memories so mundane, so precious, will be gone with time, they are already slipping through my fingers, as I desperately try to hold them in my heart.

"She was the only thing I needed to protect in this world." I whisper into his chest. My tears staining his shirt. "I failed her."

"No, Katniss," he says fiercely, for a moment I think he might be angry with me. "You did everything in your power, I mean, you volunteered to save her..." His voice trails off into nothing.

"I'm losing her, Some days I wake up and I can't remember her face." I admit quietly. He says nothing, just presses a delicate kiss into my temple. Slowly he stands and offers me a hand, I look at it a moment before I speak.

"I think I'll stay here awhile longer." I say to the floor, he nods and shuts the door quietly behind him as I rest my head on her pillow, staring at the encroaching night.

When I dream, its a memory I had forgotten so many lifetimes ago.

"Daddy!" I screech with a smile on my face, climbing across my mothers sleeping body to reach him, I shake his shoulder impatiently as he groans. "Daddy its Sunday!" I shout in his ear. I am frustrated when his face remains still and placid in sleep. My mother lets out an exasperated sigh as she rolls over.

"Katniss, go back to bed!" she whines looking at the clock above the hearth with one sleepy eye. "Its only six in the morning, your sister kept us up half the night." I give a sideways glance at the baby sleeping in the crib next to my father with a disappointed sigh. Suddenly my fathers strong arm catches me around the middle and tickles my ribs. I let out a shriek as he brings me to his chest. I can't help feeling jealousy creep up my spine as I watch the sleeping infant when my father shuts his sleepy eyes again.

"Daddy, wake up." I say with a scowl, he gives a deep throaty chuckle, his eyes still shut.

"My sweet girl, your mother is right, a baby is a lot of work, let's sleep a little longer." he kisses my hair as I let out a small huff.

"But its Sunday." I whine, after a moment I add. "Stupid baby." My fathers eyes shoot open at this.

"Katniss, that is your sister! You are suppose to love and protect her, not be jealous, now I promise, when your mother awakens we'll take you to the sweet shop and I will buy you a lemon drop, how does that sound?" I nod my head and smile a smile only my father could coax out of me. "There is my girl." he chuckles as I hunker in the blankets between him and my mother. I watch the infant sleeping for a moment, her blonde curls wild around her face like a halo, her thumb stuck between her soft lips, face rosy with the warmth of the fire.

I'll always protect her, I promise my father in my head as I shut my eyes.

I awaken with a start, but I don't cry, instead I watch the light from underneath the door and count in my head, pulling the pillow tight to my stomach as if it could hold in all of the emotions threatening to spill from me. I open the box closest to me and pull out my sisters purple dress, carefully pulling it over the pillow. I stare at it for a moment before clutching it to my chest, trying to remember the way she smelled, sweet and clean. The way her body felt under the weight of my arms when I held her.

"I'm sorry." I whisper into the dress, "I'm so sorry..."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note :Giant, giant trigger warning for this chapter, any trigger you can think of, it was painful to write, but rest assured in the coming chapters the story does take a more hopeful tone. This really is one where Katniss hits rock bottom. Also, the Song that Katniss sings is a song called Names by Radical Face.

"It's going to snow." I state with finality, turning towards Peeta as he hands me a mug of tea. "I can smell it." he runs a hand through his curls that fall straight back into his eyes, obscuring them from view. I smile despite myself. He takes a seat near the window looking out over the front yard and scanning the sky.

"Not a cloud in the sky Kat." he says with a knowing smirk on his face, the one that brings out the dimple on his right cheek. "I think you're full of shit." he adds with a small laugh.

"Big words Mellark, you'll be eating them when it snows tonight!" he shakes his head as I sit next to him admiring the short lived autumn sunlight. "You'll see, its gonna snow." he kisses my forehead and retreats to Prim's room to paint, No, I correct myself, his art room. I watch the sunlight filtering down through leaves as I feel a giddy anticipation rising in me. I pull my boots on and snatch my fathers jacket from the closet, after retrieving my bow and arrows from next to the front door, I yell to Peeta that I will be back later and race out the door, not waiting for his answer.

The air is bitter cold and take in deep lungfuls of it until the cabin fever has escaped my chest. My feet are already lighter, the heaviness from my core melting with every step. I am halfway to the lake before I slow, pausing to admire the knee high, dry grass wavering in the wind. The maple trees that have turned brilliant shades of blood reds and crisp oranges. I climb up one and pluck a leaf the color of a sunset for Peeta, tucking it in my jacket pocket before continuing on.

As I walk I find myself having a conversation with my father in my head. I talk to him about my life as I follow pathways I cut long ago, slipping between the trees, quiet as a ghost. When I reach the lake I stop short, sitting on a small boulder and pull the leaf from my pocket, worrying it between my fingers as a loon cries out from across the water.

The giddiness from earlier recedes leaving me with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I curl in on myself as I watch the fog roll off the water as the cold wind cuts through the valley, sharp and vicious. "Its going to snow today." I say to the quiet, nodding to myself. "I can smell it."

I try to fish most of the morning, but after hours of nothing and freezing red hands I sigh and turn to head back home. I try to talk to my father some more the walk home but it feels forced so I try to keep my head quiet the rest of the way home.

I run into Thom in the town square where people are busy setting up for the Harvest festival, setting up booths for food, the middle of the square there will be a bonfire. He asks me if I coming and I just shrug my shoulders, feigning indifference.

I can't stop staring at the bakery, its come a long way in the last month. They've got all the walls up and a place set for new ovens. I smile as I take it in. "Peeta must be excited." he comments after following my gaze. I nod slightly.

"Yeah, I guess." I say "He's been working down here a lot lately." he chuckles, someone calls his name and he moves on from me with a fond pat on my back and a goodbye.

When I enter the house its as I left it, quiet and empty. I trudge up the stairs and knock on Peeta's door, not pausing for him to answer. He is seated in front of a canvas splashed with brilliant colors in no discernible pattern, its just a swirl of gray, sea green and yellow. He looks up, a smudge of gray paint on his cheek. "Oh hello," he smiles at me. I notice a canvas covered in a white cloth to his right, his voice pulls my curious eyes away.

"What are you painting?" I ask leaning against the door frame, the room still leaves me raw inside.

"Nothing really, just moving color on a canvas helps sometimes." he admits turning back to the painting.

"I like it," I say a little awkwardly, not sure what to do next. He looks at me with skeptical eyes. I shrink a little under his gaze.

"Here you want to try?" he asks, holding out the paintbrush to me.

"Oh no," I say with a shaking head, "I can't paint, I'd just mess it up."

"Nonsense!" he cries jolting from the seat and patting it, an invitation for me to sit. I take small steps across the room and soon I am sitting in front the canvas a clean paintbrush in hand. "Pick a color and have at it." he says with a smile.

I pick a soft tan color that reminds me of a doeskin. "Really Katniss?" he lifts his eyebrows as I hold my paintbrush with unsure hands.

"What?" I snap

"That is the most boring color ever." he says flatly and I smile crookedly.

"I like it." I say as I smear it across the canvas with a shaky hand. After staring at it for a moment I sigh, throwing the brush to the ground with force when frustration spatters through me. "See, I suck." I huff

He examines the smear for a moment. "I like it." he echoes before setting that canvas aside and replacing it with a crisp white one.

"Alright Everdeen, have at it."

I groan as I retrieve the brush and pick a beautiful apple red. I look to Peeta as he nods in approval, I smudge the thick, red liquid across the white canvas and I can't help it, I let out a giggle. When I look back at Peeta for approval he has an ear to ear grin, like he had just seen the sun for the first time.

Four colors and a few helpful suggestions from Peeta later I am impossibly disappointed in my painting. I was trying to capture the trees I saw earlier on my way to the lake, I only succeeded in make a blur of childish lines on the canvas.

"Alright, its okay, its beautiful!" Peeta praises as I throw the paintbrush down once more.

My eyebrows knit together as I study it once more. "Its terrible Peeta." I state flatly, pulling at my hair.

"Alright, its pretty bad." he sighs pulling it off and studying it at arms length. "But, it is a Katniss Everdeen original, so I am keeping it forever."

He sets it near a pile of his own paintings, and I try not to compare them as he pulls down the one I had been eying earlier, the one that was covered. "So, I have something to show you." he says, fidgeting nervously as he places it on the easel in front of me. "Promise me you won't be upset?" he asks in an unsteady voice.

"No." I say in a smooth voice, looking up at him slyly.

"Fair enough." he breathes out as I pull off the sheet and let out a gasp, touching the dried paint with something approaching reverence. "Its not done!" he hurries out "If you don't like it I can take it away and never bring it back." I shake my head mutely, he has knocked the words right out of my chest.

"Its beautiful." I whisper, clutching the canvas to my chest. Its my sister, but not the sister of my nightmares. Its her when she was alive and blessedly whole. The day of Finnick's wedding, when we danced together. Her braid swings as I twirl her, her ocean blue eyes flared in some momentary excitement. I smile at her, but my coal eyes look dark and somewhat empty.

I stare at him a long time before leaning in and kissing him softly on the lips. He runs his hands through his shaggy curls and clears his throat before responding. "I know you have been afraid of not remembering what she looks like, this way if you ever think you're forgetting you can just look at this and remember-" I cut him off with another kiss, he responds eagerly crushing the painting between us as fire fills my chest. I set the painting down gingerly before kissing him again. His hands are warm on the small of my back and my fingers are tangled in the collar of his shirt as he lifts me to press me against the wall, press me against him.

A loud cough brings us up for air, I startle for a moment until I realize its just Haymitch, staring at us with a knowing smile, he brings a bottle of liquor to his lips as he chortles.

"I just wanted to say thanks for the booze, but as I can see, you guys are busy, I'll come back." I pick up the closest thing I can, a jar of paint the color of evergreens and throw it as hard I can. The lid must not have been on all the way because it splatters against his dirty shirt spraying down his back and slapping wetly into his hair. I can't help myself, I giggle loudly, and I look over to see Peeta joining in.

"Sorry Haymitch," I start but I dissolve into a giggle fit as he takes in the wetness on the back of his head.

"Glad to see you're in such a good mood." he says flatly, turning and heading down the stairs with a backwards wave.

I turn to Peeta who is suddenly bashful, a blush creeping up his neck and a downward glance. "I guess we should get cleaned up, the Harvest festival starts soon." he utters, turning to leave.

"Yeah, I guess." I whisper back following him out the door. I stand awkwardly in the hallway as he disappears into the bathroom and the sound of the shower turning on resonates through my room. I sit on my bed to wait for him to be done. I sit cross legged, on my bedspread being careful not to let my mind wander too far away from me. I stare out at the sunset from my window and pull the almost forgotten leaf from my pocket.

I press it to my lips as the water shuts off and Peeta steps out of the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped around his middle, his hair dripping water down his back. I am too stunned to speak for a moment. He jumps when he sees me staring, but the gives out a small chuckle, as heat rises to my cheeks.

"Um, I'm sorry-" I stammer out and look away, the leaf still pressed firmly to my lips, I remember it and hold it out to him. "I found this in the woods today." I offer in a sensible voice as he pulls it from my hand.

"Why, thank you Kat, a little piece of your woods." he says as he sets it on the dresser carefully.

I am at a loss of what to say, my modesty getting the best of me, my eyes fall to the floor shyly. Peeta is standing in front of me wearing a towel and nothing else. I suck in deep breaths and count in my head until he steps back into the bathroom with a pair of dark blue slacks and a gray sweater.

"You can look now." he jokes as he steps out of the bathroom again, fully dressed. I can only stare at him mutely as he chuckles at me. His shoulders are broad beneath his sweater, all I can see is the lines of his muscles where his shirt meets his pants. I feel the fire from earlier threatening to consume me from the inside, it isn't totally unwelcome.

"Katniss?" he asks as I furrow my eyebrows and set my shoulders into a resolved pose. My courage is waning already by the time I rush across the room to crush his lips against mine. He looks surprised for an instance but settles against me quickly. I jump up to wrap my slender legs around his waist as his hands hold my hips to his. I breathe out his name as my mind goes blessedly blank for a few moments when his tongue winds its way in my mouth.

His hands are exploring my back as we find ourselves on the bed. I try to break away from him, catch my breath but the fire has spread to my limbs and I can't seem to pull a coherent thought in my head. After what feels like a lifetime Peeta breaks away from me, looking at me with a confused expression on his face. I want to scream at him not to say anything and to please just be kissing me again, my thoughts are coming back as my head clears and I hate it.

"Katniss?" he asks, my hands are cold against his back and our legs are twisted together, his hips pressed against my abdomen. I shut my eyes tightly, the moment is over as quickly as it started. I push him off of me with unsteady hands.

"I'm sorry," I sputter as I grab a towel, standing in front of him, feeling utterly exposed under his watching eyes. "I'm not sure what came over me."

"Don't apologize." he snaps, his voice sharp and rough "Not ever." I manage a small smile as I step into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I let out a long sigh as I lean against the door, praying that my head would stop spinning.

The District is bitterly cold as we walk hand in hand toward the bonfire where people are gathered in small groups, sipping hot chocolate or cider talking of inconsequential things. Children are running back and forth between them laughing loudly. The booths set up are selling hot drinks and even Greasy Sae has set up a booth with her famous wild dog stew, even though I know its rabbit. I recognize many faces, but many I do not, and they seem to swell around me, all eager to meet the one and only Mockingjay in the flesh. Peeta deftly hides me behind his large frame and answers any questions they may have for me. I stand behind him, wide eyed and tongueless as he talks to most of these people like they are old friends he hasn't seen in awhile.

He finally convinces me to buy a bowl of stew from Sae and he buys me some hot chocolate, we find a seat away from the bonfire near the darkness along the edge of the square, he watches as I eat, watching the children playing bob the apples warily.

"They're crazy." I whisper to him after a few moments "Its so cold out here, how are their faces not freezing off." he just chuckles as I take a sip of my hot chocolate. I spot Haymitch near a tree nursing a mug of ale, I offer him a small wave but he doesn't notice me, or if he does, he doesn't wave back.

Someone who I vaguely recognize hands me a glass of spiced wine, I take a long gulp under Peeta's scrutinizing glare. I manage a small smile and his expression softens slightly. We don't speak again until my spoon is scraping my tin plate, and I am on my second cup of wine. Peeta is just finishing his roll, which he surely baked, shoving the last morsel into his mouth when someone starts up a fiddle, another person joins in with a guitar, merry voices joining the song moments later. He motions for me to stand, as I look around confused. "Come on," he orders, "lets dance."

He brings me close to the fire, closer than I am comfortable with, and wraps his hand around my middle, bringing me close to him. We start off slow, swaying gently but as the song picks up he begins to twirl me easily with a smile painted on his lips. People begin to join us, smiling and clapping in tune with the music. I feel heady and flushed from the wine, sloppily spinning as Peeta lifts me easily whirling me, then setting me back down. For a split second I imagine life could be as easy as this moment, for a moment I feel happy.

After the song has ended, another one begins, and we find a seat a little closer to the fire. Peeta is chilled and I am testing my limits, seeing how close I get before it becomes too much. "You look lovely when you smile, I had almost forgotten." he whispers, sitting close to me, leaning toward me as if it is his natural gravity pulling him in. I look down self consciously at my dress, that Peeta convinced me I could wear in front of people. I was worried about my scars but decided I would pull tights over the ones on my legs and that the knee length pea coat that Cinna had made me would cover the worst of the rest. As if he can read my mind Peeta touches the navy blue dress that peeks out from my black coat. "That color looks great on you." I sigh and take a long sip of wine, it warms my core.

"Thanks," I whisper taking another sip of wine and stare into the fire, losing my train of thought. Before I can think of my sister and my burns, Peeta catches my lips in his, a small, tepid kiss that catches me off guard. A new song has started and I push him away quickly, my blood going cold. Before I realize its me, I'm singing along with the bereft sounding guitar. Its a song my father would sing as he cleaned game, in those moment when he thought I wasn't listening. It was a mournful song filled with sorrow and loneliness.

As the warmth of the sun leaves my back  
And these bruise colored skies turn to black  
None of these faces look the same  
And not a one knows my name

Oh, I am a long way from home

This road is now my only friend  
It welcomes me through straights and through bends  
But no matter how long I stay,  
It will never know my name

Oh, I am a long way from home  
Yeah, I am a long way from home

The words catch in my throat, threatening to choke me as I try to breathe. I keep my eyes shut as my voice stills as smooth as honey. Peeta's lips are warm against mine and I welcome them, his forehead against mine is pure, unadulterated comfort. I take a shaky breath and open my eyes to see everyone staring at me with wide eyes, there is a single heartbeat of silence before they raise their hands in a three fingered salute. I stare back at them wide eyed and shaking, a broken, scarred girl.

I look over at Haymitch who winks, then raises his own salute to me. Peeta is smiling proudly, kissing my hair, but I am swallowing the bitter bite of vomit in the back of my throat. Everyone's eyes are glued to me, the heat of their stares are too much, the heat of the fire is too much.

I stand and run, knocking what was left of my wine into the grass at my feet. Peeta is close behind me, shouting at me to wait, but I need to be away from the fire that threatens to consume me.

"Katniss, stop, please!" he shouts, hooking his hand around my elbow and yanking me back. I turn to face him, suddenly spitting with rage.

"What!" I scream, "What do you want from me?" the force of it burning in my lungs. "Why can't you just leave me be?" I shout tears pouring down my face.

"Katniss you can't just up and run anytime anything gets difficult!" he shouts right back at me, the soft kisses and warm glances long gone from his face. "You can't hole yourself up inside that house like a tomb!"

"Why not." I whisper into his face "I'm already dead."

He pulls at his hair with frustration his eyes dark with anger. "Don't say that, you've been doing so well, Katniss." he is touching my face now, his thumb stroking my jaw. "I can help you, let me help you please." I am already shaking my head as he tries to pull me to him. I fight against his arms struggling to free myself.

"I can't escape it Peeta, I see the dead everywhere I go." I imagine him somewhere far away, just for a moment. In my dream he has a gaggle of children chasing after him, their giggles echoing happily through the whole house. I see his wife, whole and perfect, she smiles and kisses him and when she does he wraps his arms around her. For a moment I try to imagine myself in that same position and it doesn't feel the same. I will never be able to give him that. He deserves that and more, a thousand lifetimes, I think. Maybe if I had been a different person, maybe in another lifetime, I could have given him what he is asking from me, not anymore.

"It will get easier with time, you'll see." I am shaking my head violently

"Peeta, you deserve children." I say matter of factly

"What?" he asks his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as I continue.

"You deserve fat, happy children, a whole hoard of them! And you deserve a life away from coal dust and ash! You want a wife that doesn't see dead people in her dreams."

"Don't you dare tell me what I deserve!" He shouts, "And don't you tell me what I want." he adds in a deathly quiet voice.

"whoo boy, you two can run!" Haymitch is shouting as he races up the hill toward us, chest heaving with exertion.

I see an image of my mother hanging clothes across the laundry line that ran through are tiny yard, staring out past the coal dust and mud of district twelve, her eyes unseeing, the light gone until my father returned from the mines, until he didn't return, when it went out forever. After that day, I sang apologizes to her in my head as I watched her rot away in her bedclothes, the smell of filth radiating from her.

"Haymitch," I say in an even, cold voice. "Leave us be." he is startled by my tone but tries to continue.

"Haymitch," Peeta says sharply, turning to our mentor "Please let it go." he turns to leave I grab the bottle of liquor from his loose grip, I think he is going to yell at me, but he says nothing as he turns to leave. I stare at the bonfire that licks the night sky in wonder. When I turn to Peeta I pull the cork on the bottle and take a long swig of the amber liquid, gulping it greedily before Peeta snatches it from me, I shut my eyes and smile, Fire.

"I think you've had enough, Haymitch." he spits at me, staring at me with unblinking eyes. I snatch the bottle back with a sneer.

"Don't judge me Peeta, let me forget for a night, please."

"Until tomorrow, right?" he says "Then it will be just for one more night, then the night after that and the night after that! Until you are as yellow eyed and bitter as he is!"

"I've had enough Peeta." I state "I'm so tired, and you keep looking at me like-" I pause, trying to find the right words.

"Like what Katniss?" his voice is weary, all the fight gone out of them. "Like I love you."

I look down at the ground, his next words like a blow to the chest. "And what happened earlier, what was that? Convenience?" I am shaking my head already, sobs racking my body. "Then what?" he continues, "pity? Are you using me? What Kat? Tell me what you are thinking please?" his words come out as an angry plea.

"I'm thinking about the way my mother used to look at my father, like he was her whole world... and when he died her world died with him, and how I see it in your eyes, its there, its like I am your world, and I can't hurt you. I won't, not ever again."

I remember when my father first taught me to swim he had eased me out to the water and we practiced my kicks, finally he let me go and I sank in the water like a stone thrashing as my head slipped beneath the water. For a few moments I was sure I was going to die, I would never taste the summer air again. I frantically tried to fight my way up towards the air but after a moment I stopped, thinking it might feel nice to sink further into this cold, then his strong arms grabbed be across my middle, yanking me up into the buttery sunlight and tossing me up as if I was made of nothing, catching me and tickling me. I wrap my arms around his neck with a smile I thought you wouldn't save me! I shrieked with relief Oh my sweet Katniss, I will always save you. He says tickling my ribs until I giggle.

Peeta is staring at me with unsure eyes "What are you saying?" he asks touching my hair softly between his thumb and index finger. "Katniss answer me." he says when I don't respond, his voice is far away from me though. I look over at the fire, orange and angry.

I will always save you.

"I'm saying that I am sorry." I say barely above a whisper, my fingers touching his face, such a small comfort. "I'm always sorry..." he leans into my touch for just a moment. He sees it in my eyes before I feel it.

"No, don't run." his voice is soft and filled with loneliness, I ache to wrap myself in his comforting smell, honey and dill and cinnamon. My heart is pounding in resolve. "I can't stand to see you run away from me."

"Then close your eyes," I whisper into his ear, kissing his cheek lightly. I watch as he stares at me with dead eyes, I want to sob, I just turn on my heel and run as he calls my name.

He is chasing after me, always chasing me with his clumsy feet. However, I am a faster and I make it to my house in record time. Rushing straight to the bathroom I grab my sleeping pills, I am still clutching the bottle tightly in sweaty palms. I grab the scissors from where they sit on the sink and rip a gash into the pink skin of my scar, blood is pouring from the tear in the new skin and I cry out, more out of surprise than pain. The blood is slick against my skin and does nothing to relieve the pressure from my chest.

I am sprinting from the bathroom, up the stairs to my room when he flings the front door open, panting from running, sweat dripping from his forehead. He tries to grab me but I slip from his grasp as I take the stairs two at a time. He catches me in the hallway, grabbing me around the waist, my blood staining his sweater. I fight him hard, beating his chest and screaming at the top of my lungs. I hit him square in the cheek as He tries to grab my arm, to examine it but I bite him and he involuntarily releases me. He sees the bottle of amber booze and the bottle of pills in my hand and he eyes me like I am a snake in the grass.

I meet his stare warily, dizzy and tired, just for a split second our eyes meet, its too much, the pressure in my chest grows wild. "Katniss, please." he whispers, his voice trembling. He holds out his hands in offering, trying not to scare me off, as if I am a feral animal in a cage, maybe I am.

I will always save you.

I roll up on the balls of my feet, glancing at my door so slightly, I think he didn't see it. Of course he did, he is judging if he can get to me before I shut it behind me forever.

I turn and sprint, the door shutting behind me as he slams into it. I lock it with trembling fingers.

I ignore his frantic pleas for me to open the door as I find a comfortable corner and settle in. My throat is hoarse and I am dizzy, but I manage to grab a fistful of my pills and wash them down with the liquor I took from Haymitch, I swallow a few more before I set it aside and lay myself against the unforgiving floor. I listen as he screams my name out, pounding his body against the door so hard it splinters beneath him. I sing an apology to him as I allow myself flashes of a life that should have been.

Dancing with Peeta under a star-filled night as his eyes sparkle in the moonlight. How I might look in a toasting dress, my sister whole and healthy next to me. I think of the children we could have, if we lived in a different world. A small blonde girl with his curls and my eyes, a boy with olive skin and blue eyes. I think of us growing old and gray together, its too much I shut my eyes and give in to the tiredness in my bones.

I am a long way from home

Finnick is next to me, his jacket smells of the sea, his foamy eyes seem tired and far away. I lean into him before seeing Madge next to him, her body small and mousy in comparison. My sister sits to my left, staring out toward the ocean in front of us. She leans into me her eyes dark and red rimmed, like she has been crying. How silly, I think to myself, the dead shouldn't cry. My father sits next to her, refusing to look at me. When Finnick finally speaks he stares out into the expanse, somewhere where the ocean and sky meet, he won't look at me either. 

Oh Katniss, he whispers, what have you done?

I gasp awake for a moment, my head spinning, Peeta is still slamming his body weight into the door. I want to yell at him to just give up already! but my voice is stuck in my throat and I am just so tired. The door splinters again, about to give. I don't care anymore if he makes it in here, the damage is done. I shut my eyes again, the darkness creeping through me like a stain.

My father is next to me, his shoulder presses against mine. I feel the warmth radiating against me, a warmth I only associate with him. I can smell woodsmoke from the distant district, mixing with the heavy scent of stagnant water from the lake. The smell is so familiar, so very welcome, it screams of home. My father stares out at the lake in silence. I try to speak to him, the words on the tip of my tongue. He turns and looks at me, a grave look in his eyes. "Quiet now, my sweet girl." He turns back to lake, watching fog rolling off of it in waves a loon gives a mournful cry somewhere in the distance. "Its going to snow." I say with a small smile "I can smell it." He gives a smirk at this with the shake of his head.

"You always could." he responds pulling me closer to him, I rest my head against his chest, like I am a child again. 

"You said you'd always save me." I say into his jacket, shutting my eyes tight, my world spinning violently around me.

He quiets me with a kiss to the forehead "shhh," he comforts "its time to rest." 

"You can't save now, can you?" when he looks at me the expression he wears breaks my heart.

Peeta is wrapping his arms around me, lifting me as if I am a feather. My head is spinning and my cheek is wet with vomit. I try to struggle against him but my limbs are going numb. I can feel my heart growing heavy, slowing surely. My head lolls against him like a broken flower. He is calling my name, if its a scream or a whisper I can't tell. I open my eyes for a instant, seeing slivers of wood scattered across the floor, the door flung wide open, or should I say whats left of it. The effort of keeping my eyes open is too much, I shut them tight eager for my world to stop whirling so furiously.

I'm running, the meadow soft beneath my bare feet, the sun hot against my back as I hear the sweet tingle of my sisters laugh behind me. I outstretch my arms as I twirl and laugh. I can hear my fathers saccharine voice from somewhere far away, but the mockingjays above pick it up easily as they soar above us. We are near the lake, even though that doesn't make sense I am already stripping my jacket off, ready for the sweet tasting water. I discard it behind me as Prim calls my name. 

The sky is blessedly cloudless, the sun high above us. I am not sure how long I have been running but it doesn't matter, time has lost all meaning here. I am invincible here with my sister to my back. I have reached the water and hear a splash behind me as I dive down, farther, farther. I can see Prim next to me, our hands clasp together tightly as I slip down farther through the murky water. There is no burning in my lungs, no fight. I just stare up at the light and shadows playing across the top of the water. I could live here always, I think. Always.

My fathers voice rings through my head loud and steady.

I will always save you.

I look up and I see him standing above, his face soft as his leather jacket, the same beaten down look of time. I can almost see the way he used to sigh at me when the exasperation of a headstrong daughter took over. It is suddenly night and I swear the sky opens, all of the stars purging out into the lake, He reaches down, pulling me out by the collar of my shirt.

I open my eyes to a violent bright light Peeta is holding me up, the shower spraying cold water against my face.

"Come on Katniss," he begs in a fierce voice, a hand holding my face in the icy stream of water "Come on Kat, breathe, don't die." He demands "Please don't die," he begins to chant like a mantra his voice sounding like a small child's and as much as I want to deny his request my instincts take over and I begin to sputter and cough. I try to move but Peeta slips sending us both crashing to the ground, me on top of him. He is struggling for his own breath as if he has been holding it for a long time. I try to move, to speak, but my limbs are heavy and water logged. I am still in my dress but my pea coat has been discarded on the floor, crumpled and stained in vomit. My stomach is flipping as I try to focus on sucking in deep mouthfuls of air. "Thank God." I hear Peeta whisper. His voice sounds far away, so far from me. I turn to stare into his wide eyes, dark and sad, and promptly vomit down the front of him.

If he is angry with me, he doesn't show it, just rubs my back as the harsh taste of liquor and sleeping pills seeps out of my stomach. As I vomit I listen for the sound of my fathers voice, praying it would come to me, that I would hear him sing, or maybe yell, or cry, anything really but there is nothing but the sound of the frigid water hitting my back.

When my stomach is empty and my head starts to pound Peeta shuts the water off and lifts me against his chest. I am shivering against him, moaning in agony as my pounding head throbs. He strips my clothes off of me gently, I want to protest but I don't have the energy to be modest, and I am so cold. He whispers soothing things into my ear as he pulls one of his old t shirts over my head and pulls back the covers of my bed back. After a moment of watching me, a heartbreaking expression on his face he lifts me up and tucks me in, wrapping the warm blankets up to my chin as I shake.

He stands at the foot of the bed and watches my steady, even breathing. I see the door behind him is a mangled mess of splintered wood, chunks of it scattered on the floor. Peeta has a red welt across his cheek that will surely turn into a bruise and blood is crusted to his arm where I bit him. He is soaked through and his skin is stark white as bone. When my eyes finally meet his I am crushed by the weight of them, of the betrayal that bores in to me.

"Peeta," I start, my throat is raw and it makes my voice rough. "Peeta please." I beg.

"Your heart stopped." He croaks in a voice that is hoarse and rough with tears. He eyes the bottle of amber liquor warily as he speaks, when he lifts it he holds it out in front of him. "You were dead." he says flatly, grabbing the sleeping pills and shoving them into his pocket. He pulls the cork from the bottle and takes a long pull of the fiery liquid. His hands are still shaking, I can't stop staring at the welt on his cheek, it makes me think of his witch of a mother.

"You hit me." he says flatly still watching the liquor swish in the bottle, he takes another swig.

"Peeta," I try again, wanting to explain myself but finding no words in my chest. He just shakes his head at me in disbelief.

"Get some rest." he says wearily as he turns and trudges out the door. I hear the bottle of booze shatter against the wall just outside of my room. Heavy footsteps down the stairs and then a ear piercing scream downstairs followed by more glass breaking and more screaming. He held it together just long enough, and I cry as I listen to the cavalcade of his anger and pain. I look to the open bedroom window to see the first few snowflakes, fat and wet, lazily winding their way down from the cold night sky.

I can't help but think of that lynx that followed me around the woods, begging for handouts, its eyes trusting and hopeful, until I killed it.


	14. Chapter 14

I could have slept for a century, I could have lived in my nightmares of lizard mutts and firebombs for years. Eventually my eyes open and immediately feel heavy again, and a pair of gray Seam eyes are there to welcome me back to the land of the living.

"Oh good, you're awake." Haymitch says sharply, his words slurred. I try to sit up and I immediately regret it, as soon as I lift my head off the pillow the world begins to shift and tilt. I fall back against the headboard and stare at Haymitch for a moment as he leans back in a chair next to my bed, his socked feet resting on the bed next to me. I can tell he's been here awhile by the pile of bottles lined up at his feet, there is a blanket crumpled around his knees.

"What are you doing?" I ask, it comes out more as a moan when my head starts to throb.

"Suicide watch." he says flatly, running a hand through his greasy hair. He lets out a sigh and takes a pull from his bottle

I let out a groan as I remembered why I was in bed in the first place. Oh God, Peeta! I pull the covers from around me and try to stand but end up sitting when I get dizzy again. My arm is swathed in clean, white bandages but the force of sitting up has reopened the wound and red is beginning to seep through. The shutters have been pulled tightly, its blessedly dark.

"You're not wearing pants." Haymitch says

I pull the hem of Peeta's shirt down over my thighs as he hands me a pair of flannel sleep pants. He averts his gaze until I've pulled them up around my hips.

I try to stand again, fighting to keep myself up right, the bite of bile stinging my throat. "Where do you think you're going?" Haymitch barks out wearily, shutting his eyes as if warding off a headache.

"I'm going to talk to Peeta, I need to apologize." I say "I need to talk to him."

"A little past apologies aren't we? Besides I don't think that is a good idea."

"Why not?" I snap, the dizziness getting the best of me. He pushes me back down with his foot.

"The boy doesn't want to see you." he says not meeting my eyes. It's to be expected I guess, it doesn't make it hurt any less however, I feel like I've been hit with a brick in my chest. I work hard to regulate my breathing and ball up the sheets between my fingers that are slick with sweat.

"Where is he?" I ask, suddenly my eyes don't want to lift from the floor.

"His house," he pauses for a moment, probably trying to think of a lie that would be sufficient "He's been baking a lot." I look around the room timidly. There was a pile of clothing on the floor near the door, Peeta's stuff mostly, it's gone now. I look to the dresser, his watch isn't there, the painting that he hung last week over my bed, it is gone too. My eyes catch the leaf I picked for him, still sitting where he left it.

"How long have I been out?" I ask carefully

"Three days." he takes another swig of white liqour

"Really?" I ask in a soft voice, no trace of surprise.

"What did you expect sweetheart?" he snarls "You took enough pills to kill an moose!"

"What do you want from me?" I ask, my patience for him is growing thin.

"You had one job!" he snaps, throwing his bottle to the ground in fury. It makes me jolt, Haymitch isn't one to waste his alcohol. "You had one job and that was to stay alive." he says in a much softer tone.

I walk over to the dresser and pick up the leaf pressing the stem against my lips, I open the top drawer that had slowly turned into Peeta's, it sits empty. I sigh and shut it again.

I walk out the shattered door and down the hall, Haymitch yelling after me. I ignore him and open the door to his art room. It sits empty of color, the bed moved back to the middle of the room, the painting of Prim and I sits propped against the headboard . No other paintings, no charcoal, no cup of paintbrushes on the windowsill. I lean against the door frame and slide down it slowly, its like he was never here at all.

"When did he move his things?" I ask in a hollow voice, holding my middle tightly because it feels like my ribcage is caving in.

"Two days ago." Haymitch responds, his eyes searching my face. I nod and turn and give a weak smile. Haymitch's voice rings through my head what did you expect? I can't help but wonder if this is what I wanted. I was so desperate to push him away three days ago when I locked him out of the room, so sure I was freeing him from being tethered to me for the rest of his life. I didn't count on surviving, I didn't think about if I woke up, what the repercussions would be. This is what I wanted right? Him to move on from my brokenness, I didn't want him here reminding me that I was still alive. Why do I feel so defeated? Why do I feel like deep inside a piece has broken away and fled from me? Why do I feel so hollow inside?

"I'll get you a cup of broth," Haymitch says gently " just do me a favor and don't off yourself while I am gone please." He heads downstairs and I finally find my legs. I peer down the stairs and I can't help clutching my hands to my lips tightly, as I make my way down on quiet, bare feet.

The hutch that was once sitting near the front door is overturned, glass scattering the ground. A bookshelf that sat against the wall in the dining room was also turned over. Peeta, in his anger had thrown them, I had forgotten how strong he was. I finger the small pearl that sits in the hollow of my throat carefully.

"He cut his hand pretty good on the hutch, Greasy Sae patched him up though." Haymitch says as he comes up behind me with a steaming mug. I sit on the stairs and sip it, my stomach flipping and aching when it hits. " Has a pretty good shiner too."

"Oh shit, I hit him." I groan my head falling to my knees. "He has every right to hate me forever."

"But he won't," Haymitch says in a soft voice "just give him time." we both are quiet for a long time, sitting in comfortable silence while we both sip our cups of broth. Haymitch retrieves a bottle from the cupboard and I ask for a sip, he doesn't respond, just looks at me as if I have two heads.

"Why don't you go back to bed Katniss." he frowns "You must be tired." I am tired, I think, but not for the reasons you'd think.

I am careful to avoid the glass from the bottle that Peeta threw at the wall and find my way to bed. I lay there for a long time, listening to the silence of my house. Finally the emptiness gets the best of me and I feel like I am suffocating. I pad over to the window and jerk it open, letting the midday sunlight in. Its a overcast day, bitter cold, with a biting wind. Snow still hangs heavy in the trees and has mixed to a gray sludge in the road. People are clearing snow from the roads down the hill towards town. I sit and listen to the stillness, it was always the one thing I loved about the snow, how the entire world fell quiet after.

Then I hear it, a muffled scream from Peeta's house. His house sits dark and cold, no smoke winding up lazily from the chimney, no lights, nothing. Its easy to figure whats happening, an episode, as Haymitch would call it. I have to fight every instinct I have not to turn on my heels and run to him. He doesn't want my comfort, not anymore. I grit my teeth and force myself to listen to those faint yells, its all I deserve, to hear his heartbreak. It is a special kind of torture.

"I thought I told you to go to sleep." Haymitch scolds, I start and turn.

"How long?" I ask, he doesn't need an explanation.

"Since that night, he came over babbling about how your lips were blue." He takes a drink and plops onto my bed. "He hasn't been right since."

I nod, taking in that information and work on making my face blank, it shouldn't concern me what Peeta's condition is, I am the cause, I need to stay away.

"I'm going to shower Haymitch." I say numbly

"I'll be here." he says and I knit my eyebrows together "Suicide watch, remember, doctor's orders." I shake my head and shut the bathroom door tightly behind me.

Night descends slowly, and the moon breaks from the clouds, leaving everything drenched in silver. I sit up while Haymitch snores from the floor, dead to everything and everyone. I listen to the steady rhythm of my heart until I think I might scream then I pace around the room. I finally step out to the living room and sit in front of the television, staring at a commercial for face cream. I put Peeta's t shirt and my flannel pants back on after my shower. I need the scent of Cinnamon and dill around me tonight, and I can't ask Peeta for his comfort so I settle for pulling the collar up around my mouth and breathing in the scent that has long been replaced by my own.

After what must be hours I get up and pace the living room like a caged wildcat. I step out on the porch into the cold, and find a seat on a rocking chair that was my grandmothers. I rock back and forth, the creaking wood calming my racing heart. I hear Peeta's faint screams, his bedroom light is on but no smoke from the chimney, it has a air of abandonment to it.

Before I know what I am doing I am crossing my lawn, hopping the small fence that borders our property. My feet are bare and stinging in the snow and I curse myself for not grabbing a jacket, but it feels as if my feet have a mind of their own. I try his front door, but it is locked tight. I let out a long sigh, I can't knock, he wouldn't answer if I did. I try his kitchen window its also locked. I eye the tree in his yard that hangs over his bedroom window. I begin to climb slowly, the bark is icy and my stomach still flip flops when I move quickly.

I crawl out onto the branch that hangs over the awning of his porch and slide down carefully. I peek into his window, struggling to see through the ice that has formed. There he is, curled into a ball in the corner of his room, his fists knotted into his flaxen curls. His eyes are hidden by his knees. He doesn't notice me sitting here as he screams violently into his legs. Things have been thrown around his room and his blankets and sheets are crumpled on the floor.

I want nothing more than to crawl through that window and work my way through that ball of flesh until I could wrap my arms around him and murmur soothing things into the hollow of his neck, but its too late I tell myself. Its better if he gets it out now, screams himself silly, then move on from me.

I wrap my arms around my middle to calm my shivering. I watch him for a few more seconds then carefully make my way back down the tree, landing with a dull thud in the snow. I am soaked through and suddenly very tired. When I find my way back to my house Haymitch is waiting on the porch. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he asks.

"I think so." I respond numbly

"Good, now leave the boy alone, that's what he wants." His words sting, but as usual he's right. I go to bed without another word and sob myself to sleep.

The next month brings more snow, more cold. I find myself aching for summer, for the heat and stickiness of it. I am tired of huddling by the fire, I'm tired of stew and hot showers. Haymitch has finally gone home after much convincing, but still checks on me at least once a day. He has made coming over for dinner now that Greasy Sae has returned to making my meals. Sometimes we play cards by the fire, but mostly he ends up stumbling back to his house right after dinner.

I have mandatory calls with Dr Aurelius and I do my best to go through the motions of my day. I get up early and eat breakfast, then I hunt or do my chores around the house, I eat dinner, I sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Peeta never stops by, though his screams have subsided, and I suppose that's an improvement. I ask Haymitch about him, but he remains mostly quiet, telling me only that Peeta is alive and doing okay considering.

I awake early and try to work on forcing the numbness out of me. I can't help but thinking about Prim and trying to remember the feel of her small body against mine as we lay in bed together, huddled for warmth in front of the kitchen fire. I sigh, today is going to be a bad day, a day where everything is a weapon that could be used to end this emptiness. I shut my eyes and try to go back to sleep, I'd take the nightmares over this.

I'm not lucky enough for that, I wake up a short time later, my joints aching. I shower and dress warmly, in a thick purple sweater and olive green tight fitting pants. I find the thickest socks I can and wrap a scarf around my fathers jacket and step into the cold morning with a flask of tea and my game bag on my hip.

My walk into town is quiet mostly, only a few people out on the road to the victors village. Stores are beginning to open and they've built a long walkway of wood to keep peoples feet from sinking into the mud and slush. I kick the snow from my boots before I enter the mercantile store, not really paying attention when I smack into someone.

"I'm sorry," I manage as I cringe away from the unwanted human contact. I look up, my eyes meeting his.

"Um, its alright." Peeta stammers, eying me carefully with guarded eyes that I can't quite read.

"Oh, um hey." I get out in a tight voice, drinking him in with my eyes. He looks fine, a little thin but the bruise on his face is healed. His hands are shaking, someone who didn't know him well wouldn't notice.

He holds a paper bag full of food in between us, he shifts it from arm to arm. He stands there and looks at me for a moment before he turns on his heels and walks away.

I take my time walking through the small shop, I finger soft fabrics and run my fingers along the shelves. I give Peeta time to get away before I buy what I came in for, shoving the bandages in my game bag before moving on. I stop at the sweet shop and stare at the candy for what feels like an hour before meandering lazily past a saloon that now runs out of a tent. I stop and examine it sitting among the rubble and ash and slush. I enter timidly and no one seems to notice me, or care that I am there, it's kind of nice.

The man selling cups of liquor asks if I would like I cup and I agree. I sit in a dark corner until my cup is gone, I order another and knock it back pretty quickly. I slip out unnoticed and I'm back on the street. I walk along the storefronts, admiring what storefronts are up and running, peeking in the one's that aren't. That's when I see him again, leaned against the trunk of a tree near the outskirts of the town. He's talking to a woman I don't recognize, a little older than us, but pretty with red hair and eyes the color of Finnick's, Her hand is on his shoulder, and when she says something he laughs, not a real laugh, no, but a laugh all the same.

I press myself into the corner of a dark store and try to focus on breathing, but my nails are digging into my palms, drawing blood. I shut my eyes and count in my head, when I reach twenty I open them again. I look back over to them, deep in conversation. I suddenly have a hot feeling coursing through my veins. Tears are springing in my eyes. But why? This is what I wanted, right? Him to move on? I grit my teeth hard and set my shoulders, I lift my chin, even though its quivering. Head high, I think to myself, suddenly regretting those two drinks.

I step out from the shadows and straighten my jacket I walk past them with my face fixed firmly forward, not looking at Peeta or the girl even once.

I make it to my porch before I dissolve into tears. I am trying to catch my breath, taking shaky breaths, pushing my hair, wet with snow out of my face. I enter the house and drop my game bag on the floor, still struggling for breath.

Greasy Sae has left a pot of stew on the stove and a basket on the counter under a towel to keep it warm. I can smell it before I reach it, still I flip the towel and choke, my chest heaving. Bread.

I lift a roll to my and breath it in, its soft and buttery light. I take the whole basket out front and dump it into the yard in a flash of anger. Peeta is standing on his porch staring at me. I meet his eyes and I can't help it, I'm angry, I stare him down for a moment, tears pouring down my face, and then I turn on my heel, slamming the door behind me.

I have fitful dreams of Peeta, where I am in Snows mansion, searching for him, calling his name desperately, he's nowhere to be found. Then I am in the forest, hunting a deer, but as I go to take the kill shot, just as the arrow is leaving my bow, it transforms into Peeta and he falls dead before I can even yell out to him.

I awake in a sheen of sweat, to someone pounding on my door. I flick on my light and take a few deep breaths before I grab my robe and head downstairs.

"What do you want?" I growl as I pull the door open, to find Peeta wide eyed and barefoot on my porch.

"Oh, I thought you were Haymitch." I say coldly "What are you doing?"

"Um, I heard you yelling, I knew you were having a nightmare..." His voice trails off. Snow is stuck in his pale hair, in his eyelashes, he must have been standing out here a long time before he came to the door.

"I'm fine now, thanks." I mutter, my nails seem interesting, I can't seem to stop staring at them.

"Alright then, goodnight I guess." he backs away from the door and waits for something, like he wants to say something more, we end up just standing in awkward silence.

I can't stop thinking about the last fight we had, how he had fought so hard for me. How I must have looked crumpled on that floor.

"Peeta," I breath as he is turning to leave. "Peeta!" I force my voice to be loud and clear.

He turns back to me, his eyes regarding me carefully. "Yes Katniss?" it sounds so formal, so unlike us.

"Nothing, goodnight." I whisper turning back to the warmth of my house. I stoke up the fire and hunker into the couch, watching the fire creating shadows on the bare walls.

I don't realize I'm crying until Buttercup comes up and curls against me. I bury my face into his fur and sob out my anger and shame. "I feel like I can't breathe." I say into the scruff of his neck. "I can't breathe."

After I cry myself out I wander into the bathroom and find my knife, my old friend. I make shallow cuts into my legs until I fall asleep on the bathroom floor.


	15. Chapter 15

Haymitch is in my kitchen when I wake, a bottle of amber ale in one hand, a roll in the other. I sigh in a world weary way and pad in socked feet down the stairs. “I need to talk to you sweetheart.” he says with a mouth full of bread.

“Kinda figured this wasn't a social call,” I snap, running my fingers through the tangles in my hair, smoothing my braid down.

“Its almost been a year that the war has been over.” he says softly, my breath catches in my throat and I have to lean against the counter to steady myself.

“You say that like I would forget.” I whisper and though I work on smoothing my face of emotion, my lip trembles slightly.

“They're hosting celebrations throughout the districts, awarding medals to the war heroes, passing out parcels, that kind of thing.”

“No.” I state firmly, before he has a chance to get anything out. “No, I won't, I can't.” I say softer.

“You don't have a choice, sweetheart.” his voice is hoarse, like he's smoked too much tobacco.

I stare at him a long while, before I sit next to him at the table, my face buried into my arms. “I'll never be free will I?”

“Maybe not.” he says weakly, soothing my hair down with a dirt caked hand. “Its only one night.” he says flatly, “They'll have you give a speech, as well as the boy, maybe a few others from the district and then hand out the medals, have dinner, destroy the arena and then its done, easy as pie, right?” my head shoots up in shock.

“Destroy the arena?” I ask flatly 

“They've been discussing it for awhile, getting rid of those things.” he takes a swig from his mug. “Figured they'd televise it, this is the first one, so they're making it ceremonial.” 

I sigh heavily, and stand on shaky legs. “Katniss,” he says softly and I start hearing him say my name. “It'll be okay.” 

“Will it?” I ask with a shaky voice, his silence is enough of an answer to me.

I'm almost to the stairs when I hear his response. “It has to be.” he says with resolve.

I dress warmly, yet the winter wind bites through my jacket and knitted cap. My sheath of arrows is slung over my shoulder as I head to the meadow, now slick and icy, I find a tree near where the butchers once stood and I nock an arrow, breath in, release, breathe out, right on mark. I make an easy game of it, over and over, until my hands are raw with cold and my pant legs are soaked through, I fire arrow after arrow until I have none left.

The cold finally forces me to move, and I move through town quietly, pushing my way through the people crowding the storefronts. I force myself not to admire the bakery's storefront, made of beautiful red brick and fresh wood. I force myself not to look at the beautiful cakes that line the window. I pass by like a ghost, like maybe, I was never here at all.

I find myself frequenting the saloon tent more and more, sometimes I see Haymitch, but we don't acknowledge each other. We sit in our separate dark corners and take comfort in the fact no one will try to speak to us here. More often than not, I don't see him, knowing he prefers the quiet of his filthy house.

I order a glass of white liquor and nurse it near the muddied tent flap, choking on the heat of it. I force it down and order one more, not making eye contact with the barkeeper as he takes my coins. 

“Katniss?” a voice asks behind me, and I cringe as I turn around. 

“Hi Thom,” I choke out weakly, he eyes me with something approaching sorrow.

“What are you doing in here kid?” he inquires gently, his hands crusted in coal dust and mud. Some men that were playing cards near the door have stopped to look at us, I recoil from their stares. 

“Just came in for a drink.” I say flatly, chugging down the liquor and motioning for another, as the barkeeper hands me another, Thom presses a coin in his fingers, while ordering an ale.

“Don't make it habit or people will talk” he says in a whisper, running his hands through his hair darkened black and slick with snow. 

“Never much cared for what people thought of me.” I whisper back as he clanks his glass against mine with a wink before moving over to the men playing cards, asking loudly to be dealt in, eyes shift from me to him just like that. I knock back my drink and with a warm belly, I push my way past the muddy tent flap that serves as a door.

I wander through the sweet shop on shaky legs, the alcohol went to my head quickly and I curse myself for not eating breakfast this morning, but I buy a bag of peppermints and shove one in my mouth before moving on, letting the sweetness dissolve against my cheek, the hot taste of liquor disappearing from my tongue.

The wind is now unbearable and I shiver against my jacket. I wrap my arms around my stomach and pull the leather around me tighter. I stop suddenly when something catches my eye across the street; a flash of red from the bakery. Its the girl that Peeta was talking to, before I can stop my feet I have stepped off the sidewalk into the muck of the road, I stop in the middle, my breath caught in my throat hopelessly.

She looks so, whole. Her skin is milky white and flawless, no scars to be seen. Her lips are plump and pink and slightly unbalanced, top lip slightly larger than the bottom. Her green eyes are a clear and focused as she talks animatedly to a customer from behind the counter, an apron tied around her waist, accentuating her curves. Her bright cherry-red hair is pulled back away from her face in a loose knot. She wears a gentle smile that suggests that she has never seen a nightmare in her life. I stifle a small noise that is gathering in the back of my throat with my fingers pressed to my lips. I catch Thom looking at me through the door flap of the saloon, I compose myself and move on before the pity in his eyes reaches his mouth.

I drop my bow by the door and pull my boots and socks off, rushing to the fire and dropping my bottom as close to the hearth as I dare. Greasy Sae is in the kitchen, her granddaughter draws at the table, chattering happily to Buttercup as he meows at her feet. 

“Afternoon, Dear.” Sae says fondly as she putters around the kitchen. I mutter something unintelligible as I draw in the ash that has collected on the hearth with my finger. 

She hands me a steaming bowl of porridge and I move it around halfheartedly with my spoon. “Come on dear, I put a little cream and honey in it just like you like.” she says in a coaxing tone, I take a tentative bite, it tastes like nothing, I don't have the heart to tell her so I offer a half smile, when she moves away I set the bowl next to me on the rug.

Its dusk by the time Sae leaves, her granddaughter in tow, all bundled against the biting wind. I don't offer them anything when they leave, not so much as a wave. It doesn't seem like it bothers her any, she's used to it by now. She pats my head as she leaves and I jerk away from her touch like a petulant child.

Buttercup meows at me and I offer him my mostly untouched porridge, he sniffs at it and mewls louder, clearly unimpressed. I sigh and take a bite.

“Its fine,” I say to him angrily, he just stares at me with large, yellow eyes. “Suit yourself.” I mutter sourly and begin to shove the cold porridge into my mouth unenthusiastically.

Moonlight slowly floods in through the kitchen window, I make no move to turn on lights or stoke the fire, I just watch as it dies to embers in front of me. I tug on my braid methodically, slowly and the pain in my scalp soothes me. I do my best not to think of Peeta, I try not to wonder if he's cold or tired, I try not to imagine him pressed up against the girl from the bakery, his lips, soft and slightly chapped, crushed up against hers.

I finally rise and stumble to the kitchen, I find a small liquor bottle in the cupboard, pulling the cork out with my teeth I make a pillow out of my sweater. I sip the liquor until my eyelids grow heavy.

“Come on now, little kat!” my mother is pulling me along behind her by the hand. I stare into the sweetshop letting the smell of peppermints and lemon drops wash over me. Her hands are full with little Prim, and a bag of fabric and thread and bandages. My father takes the baby from her and smiles, kissing the spot on her neck behind her earlobe.

“Oh, let her look, love.” he says in a fond voice.

“You're too easy on her Ash.” she scolds my father with no anger in her voice.

“Nonsense, Rowan, Our life is hard enough without you rushing her.” my mother rolls her eyes but gives him a half smile. He takes her face between the palms of his coal coated, calloused hands and kisses her deeply while people stop and stare. The sun is warm against my cheek as I watch them with careful, guarded gray eyes. Everyone around is gaping at the seam man, with his dark hair and sun browned skin kissing a merchant lady, his fingers tangled in her ash-blonde hair. 

It doesn't matter that they watch, all my parents see is each other. 

I am suddenly standing in our small kitchen as my mother chops onions, her face set in determination as she focuses on preparing dinner. I sit underneath the table with a small apple doll my father made me. I am trying to hide behind her skirts, I shift the fabric around until it covers me. Suddenly my mother smiles, peeking her almond eyes down at me.

“Where has my little Kat gone?” she asks in a playful tone “Little Kat!” she calls in a sing song voice. “Oh well,” she sighs looking back at the onions in front of her, but pulling a strawberry from a pile on the table.

“I guess I must eat all of these strawberries all by myself!” I jump up, proclaiming I had been under the table the whole time. She hands me a strawberry with a kiss to my forehead. 

“There is my little Katniss.” she pulls me into her lap and presses a smile into my hair. “She never left me after all.” she pulls my hair away from my face, running her fingers through the knots gently, staring out the window in wistful silence.

When I awaken light is beginning to stream through the windows, casting shadows on the ground. It's a dark day, the clouds are a grim, pregnant purple, hanging low in the sky. I pull on my boots and wander outside, heaving my small frame into my grandmothers old rocking chair, It moans in protest beneath me. All I hear is the silence of recent snow, a clean layer has coated everything in a pearly white. I hug my knees to my chest as I rock rhythmically. 

“A little cold out for rocking isn't it?” I shut my eyes tighter and will him away.

“What do you want?” I ask in a cool voice, keeping my eyes shut. 

“Brought you your mail.” I finally manage to open my eyes, he has a fistful of envelopes in his hand, and snow is collecting in his eyelashes. He looks well, I suppose. He looks well fed, but his eyes are dark, the skin beneath them looking lightly bruised.

“Gee thanks.” I say flatly as he sets it on my lap, backing away from me quickly. We share a few moments of awkward quiet, he's running his hands through his hair and looking everywhere but me. “The bakery looks nice.” I say trying to muster up as much enthusiasm as I can, it almost sounds kind. 

“Gee thanks.” he echoes, mimicking my tone. 

It makes me angry. “So does the girl in it.” I bite out despite myself.

“What?” he asks, a quizzical look on his face. “You mean Praia?” 

“I don't care what her name is.” I snap, looking everywhere but him.

“Oh my God.” he says, realization thick in his voice “You're jealous.” He almost looks amused. 

I feel shame flooding me, my cheeks burning pink. I begin to tug on my braid the pain in my scalp grounding me. He suddenly surges forward wrapping my hands in his, effectively stilling them. I jolt away as if he scalded me, scattering the mail all over the porch. He lets out a long sigh.

“Does it matter if I am? We aren't together, you don't want to see me, remember.” I snarl, he looks as if I hit him.

“Do you really want to get into this now?” he asks carefully, I just stare into his sapphire eyes. “Fine, You tried to kill yourself.” he says in a voice low and cold. 

“Yeah, I did.” I say weakly, the fight quickly leaving my body.

“You're lips were so blue.” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I thought I lost you... you looked so... tiny.” I feel tiny now, beneath the rough waters of his blue eyes. He pauses, waiting for me to say something. When I don't speak he continues on. “I've had nightmares about it for over a month, not that you care.” 

“I didn't think about it, to be honest.” I manage out weakly 

“I'd say.” he snaps back with a snort. “You were going to leave me here all alone.” he whispers in a dishearteningly low voice. He steps back out in the snow, wet flakes landing on his navy wool jacket, one I always thought brought out his eyes. We eye each other warily for a moment before he turns on his heel and trudges through the ankle high snow back to his own house.

“Where has my little Kat gone?” I whisper to myself in a sing song voice.

I gather up the wet mail from the ground and begin to leaf through it lazily. One letter in particular catching my eye. My name and district is scrawled across the front in a neat, boxy letters. Its an invitation to the one year celebration in District 12 next month. I force myself to control my breathing. I can't imagine how I would react if Haymitch hadn't warned me. 

I shut the door behind me tightly, silent tears streaking my face. A few moments later there is a soft knock at my door, I wipe my eyes and open it tentatively. Peeta stands there, wringing his hands.

“What?” I ask in a defeated, shaky voice. “What do you want?” I sound small, I try to stand straighter to make up for it.

“I want to say, I'm sorry Katniss.” he rushes out before I can close the door. I try not to pull my braid, he notices my blotchy skin.

“You've been crying?” he whispers “Real?” he asks, second guessing himself.

I hold out the invitation for his inspection, he reads it and looks up at me with soft eyes. “Real.” I say in a tiny voice, wrapping my arms around my middle. 

“You miss me.” he states softly “Real?” 

“Real.” I say with a nod, stepping back out on the porch and leaning against the door. He nods along with me, chewing on his lip.

“You hate me...real or not real?” I ask in a meek voice, my bottom lip quivering.

“Not real.” he says in a firm voice, sounding angry. “Not real.” he repeats, forcing me to look in his eyes. I nod in understanding.

“You miss me too? Real?” I ask with a more steady voice. 

“Real.” he says a small smile playing at his lips. “You're too thin.” he says softly, his fingers brush against my ribs.

“I was starving.” I say with a shrug, opening my door and turning to face him. 

“Not anymore?” he asks hopefully

“No,” I try to make it sound reassuring, I try to give him smile but my lips feel weighted down. “but, I will starve again.” I say matter of factly, slowly shutting the door until my face just peeks out at him. He looks like he doesn't know what to say. 

“Its okay,” I say gently “I know how to starve.” I shut the door. 

“Have a good night, Katniss.” he says through the door.

“Goodnight, Peeta.” I whisper back.

 

I wait until the cover of darkness before I go back out into the bitter cold, my braid is tucked into my cap and the hood on my sweatshirt is pulled up over it. I head to the saloon, the invitation burning a hole in my pocket.

Thom is there, I'm not sure if he has actually left, but I avoid eye contact as I find a seat in the corner. He has seen me of course, and gets up from his game of cards with a shrug and a joke. He pulls up a chair across from me. I take a drink from my tin cup and wince. He watches me for a few moments before I self consciously rub my hand across my face.

“Do I have something on my face?” I ask pointedly, my eyebrows raised. He shakes his head with a weak chuckle “Well then, maybe someone should tell you it isn't polite to stare.” I snap. He runs his fingers along his suspenders absentmindedly.

“Somebody should tell you it isn't very nice of you to yell at your friends.” he says raising his own eyebrows back at me. I toss back my drink and set my jaw stubbornly. “Seems like you don't have very many left.” 

I motion for another drink “No, I suppose you're right.” I sigh as the bartender hands me another tin cup and takes away my old one.

“What are you doing here, kid?” he echoes his question from earlier. “You don't belong here.” 

“You're here.” I mutter in an empty voice

“You're in love with him aren't you?” he questions in an amused voice, I am at a loss for words, so I just shrug. “Who knew the Baker's boy would catch Katniss Everdeen's eye.” He says in an amused voice.

“Wouldn't it be better for everyone if he didn't?” I say staring into my cup. 

“Would it?” he questions and orders me another drink with a smirk. “Doesn't make a whole lot of sense to be questioning it now, now does it?” 

“Guess not.” I say weakly

“The way I see it,” He says with a soft smile “a lot people died so you could live, there is no way I'd throw that away with both hands.” I finish my drink in one swallow, it burns all the way down my throat, warming my stomach.

“I just want to forget.” I whisper tiredly

“Me too, kid.” he says with fond shake of his head, “Me too.”

I stumble out of the tent close to dawn, Thom passed out on the card table in a puddle of drool. People are just starting their day, people including Peeta, whose unlocking the bakery doors, his hair still mussed with sleep, Haymitch standing, or well, leaning next to him. “Shit,” I whisper and quickly try to hide my face. I teeter on the sidewalk, using the railing to hold me up.

“Hey Sweetheart!” Haymitch shouts as I curse under my breath and lurch forward on shaky feet. Peeta turns and takes me in with hard eyes.

“Hey, Haymitch!” I say a little too brightly and he chuckles as he stumbles toward me.

“What are you doing up at'em so early!” he meets me in the middle of the street, wrapping an arm over my shoulder and dragging me to where Peeta stands with his arms crossed stoically.

“I could ask you the same thing.” I snap

“I'm helping Peeta in the shop today!” He says happily “Peeta, look who it is! our old friend Katniss!” I shy away from Peeta and shrug out of Haymitch's grasp. I loose my equilibrium and tumble a little, Peeta catches me and steadies my feet.

“I'm fine!” I snap wrenching out of his grasp.

“Are you drunk?” he asks me in a haughty voice 

“ugh, I hate self righteous people.” I snap, he steps away from me, eying me coldly.

“Come in and get something to eat Katniss, soak up some of that liquor.”

“I don't want charity.” I say flatly

“Fine.” he says in a dismissive tone “Haymitch, see her home.” He slams the door behind him.

 

Haymitch and I stumble to the victors village in amiable silence. All the fight has gone out of me, leaving me shivering and sad. I tug on my braid absently, my mind on firebombs and ducktails. I have to bite back the heat of vomit in my throat.

“You know the boy is just worried about you.” Haymitch says in a gruff voice. 

“He has a funny way of showing it.”

“Well, you've always brought out the best in people.” he says dryly, rolling his eyes at me. “Stop pulling your hair.” he adds as an afterthought.

I roll my eyes back at him but shove my hands in my pockets, focusing on the tiny puffs of white breath coming out from between my lips. We reach Haymitch's front stoop and sits, motioning for me to sit next to him. I stay in the snow on his walkway, looking everywhere but his glossy, gun barrel eyes.

He stays quiet for a long time, chewing his cracked lips until they are red. I'm deep in thought when he clears his throat wetly, it makes me start. “Don't be me, girl.” the words are enough to sober me for a moment.

“Never.” I say with a humorless smile. “You smell bad.” I chuckle a little.

“Well, fuck you too kid.” he says flatly with a wink. 

 

Effie comes on the train, two days before the ceremony, her hair an unoffensive liliac, almost pretty. She tsks at how thin I am, examining me closely with guarded, closed eyes. She touches a scar on my neck with a feather light touch, she chokes back a tear and pulls a box from the front porch.

“This is for you.” she says softly as I eye it with dread. I put on a brave face. 

“Oh,” I gasp, pulling up a fistful of soft fabric, lifting it to my face.

“It's your clothing line!” she says with faked enthusiasm 

“You mean Cinna's.” I correct, raising a dress made of silk to my cheek, breathing in the faint smell of mothballs.

“Maybe there is something here you would like to wear to the ceremony?” she asks helpfully and I nod.

“Thank you Effie,” I choke out

She smiles at me softly “Yes, well...” she mutters her voice trailing off, she clears her throat uncertainly. Her eyes seem so distant, flitting this way and that, never landing in the same place twice. Her mouth instantly pulls down into a frown I'm not sure she knows is there. Its an expression that reminds me of my mother in those dark years after my father died.

“What did they do to you?” the words tumble off my tongue before I can stop them, she doesn't say anything for a few long moments, just shrugs.

 

“Doesn't matter now, does it sweet Katniss?” 

“I guess not.” I mutter back

“Keep looking,” she points to the box and I dig deeper through the clothing, near the bottom is my Mockingjay suit, looking a little worse for wear. I am about to yell that she had no right to bring this into my house, especially when it still smells like the ash of my dead sister.

“Check the breast pocket.” she quips softly at catching my expression, I fish through the small pocket and pull out a pearl, soft next to the firelight. I immediately ball it into my fist, Its like it never left my side.

“Thank you.” she kisses my forehead

“I suppose I should check on Haymitch, I'm sure he's three sheets by now.” I nod but I am already far away, rubbing the smooth pearl against my lips. She gathers up the offensive suit and takes it with her, I couldn't be more glad.

I gather up all of my courage to walk into the study, I find the box with my bow and spile I carry it to my room and place the pearl back into the parachute, I give a small smile as I shut the lid and slip it under my bed.

I climb into my bed though its only midday, my eyelids can barely stay open.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I am standing in foamy white, knee high waves. The tepid water lapping against my silk dress gently. Finnick standing next to me, his strong shoulders bronzed in the early afternoon sunlight. He is watching the sunlight playing on the water with amused, almost playful eyes.

“Would you like a sugar cube?” he teases me, bumping his shoulder against mine softly. I shake my head with a smile. “Good,” he answers “Because I haven't got one.” I supply him a half smile.

“I miss you Finn.” I say quietly and he shakes his head, watching a ship sailing in the distance.

“Don't waste any sadness on me.” he says in a confident voice “I'm alright.”

“Don't you miss Annie?” I ask, at the sound of her name his eyes darken a shade.

“Miss her?” he asks in an incredulous tone “She's not so far off, My Annie, and when I do miss her, I visit.” he whispers holding his finger to his lips, I understand, Our secret.

We stand in silence, watching the sun, now melting into the sea, setting the sky afire with color. “See, there she is.” he points to the horizon. As the first stars bloom bright and crisp at the edge of dusk.

“You know Katniss, you don't have to be a ghost, there is enough of us already.”

“I feel like I am slipping out of reach.” I confess with a dry tongue.

“When you feel like that, step back and look at all you do have.” he offers, “It might be more than you think .” We stand in peaceful silence, taking in salt and spray of the ocean around us.

“Isn't she the most beautiful thing ever.” he whispers to the sky, as it darkens around us, a dusting of stars becoming visible. His eyes are so far away on the horizon I am afraid he doesn't hear my response.

“Of course.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stand at the edge of town, warring with myself. My feet almost turn and run without my permission. I force myself to straighten my shoulders and lock my jaw to keep my lips from quivering. Head high, I think to myself. I lurch forward on shaking legs towards the bakery, pushing the door open I am immediately bombarded with the warmth from the ovens against my face. The smell of bread and sugar and dill washing over me. I hadn't realized how much I missed the smell of bread wafting through my house, sustenance and life itself, Peeta is wrapped in that smell. It feels me and leaves me hollow at the same time.

I am so wrapped up in my thoughts of the snow gathering in his eyelashes I haven't realized that the red head has asked me a question, she looks at me with an expectant expression. I take a step back toward the door, and think about leaving. Coward. I think to myself.

“Um, I'm sorry?” I ask, swallowing salty tears down and smoothing my face.

“Did you need anything Miss Everdeen?” she asks, I start when she knows my name, which is stupid, everyone knows my name. 

“Um, is Peeta here?” I ask and she wears an almost vacant expression as she nods and steps into the back. 

I take the time to admire the simple decor of the place, clean white wood and red brick. The cases that line the counters are made of crystal clean glass and a window offers a peek of the fire of the ovens in the back. I take a seat at a small table and fidget nervously, picking at my nails.

I can hear soft chit chat echoing through the room as they come into view. They walk so close together their arms almost touch. I look down and train my eyes on the floor. “Katniss?” Peeta asks, standing farther away from me than I would like, his eyes regarding me like a snake in the grass.

Everyone stands in an awkward semi-circle the silence in the air humming. I stare pointedly at the red head.

“I suppose I should introduce myself.” she says with mock brightness, her eyes skittish. “I'm Praia.” She reaches out for a handshake, her hand trembling slightly, her face is stuck in a almost maniacal smile, her voice is sweet as honey, it makes me want to vomit. I just stare at her hand until it retreats back to her side. She wipes it on the edge of her floral dress while clearing her throat uneasily. When I see her I can't help think of Annie and her wiry, flitting energy.

“Will you excuse us?” I bite, I swear I didn't mean for it to sound snappy, but I feel my eyebrows knit together like I am preparing for a fight. Her head ducks down a little and she nods tersely, walking behind the counter, wiping down a case and trying to look busy.

Peeta looks at me, his eyebrows pulled down and I wither a little under his stare. “You are so rude sometimes.” he all but shouts at me, Praia jumps a little at his tone, looking between us for a moment before she catches my expression at her, her eyes flit away quickly.

“Have you seen Effie yet?” I ask, working on keeping my tone even.

“Yeah” silence hangs in the air between us, crackling with energy. 

“Why are you here?” he asks suddenly his eyebrows raised expectantly but his eyes only look mildly annoyed instead of angry. I guess its progress, I let out a long huff of air.

“I don't know.” I answer honestly, picking at my nails, biting at some skin that has come loose near the edge, I let out a small cry of pain when it cuts to the quick.

“Well, I'm busy.” he says turning to leave and I swallow hard. 

“I'm sorry!” I shout, standing up and knocking my chair backwards “I'm sorry, just stop looking at me like that!” 

“How should I be looking at you?” he asks in frustration, his face is starting to turn pink, his hands shoot to the back of his head.

“Why do you always ask me things like that?” I shout back at him in a wild voice. 

“Because!” he yells, it seems like he is warring with himself on whether he should stay or go, his eyes flicking between me and the door. 

“Because why?” I ask softer now, trying to steady my breathing

“Because I don't understand!” he shouts and it cuts me to the quick. “I don't understand, I try but I have all of these memories and they're all mucked up in my brain and you can be so mean, and sad, and I don't know whats real and what isn't and you walk around like a ghost not talking to anyone and I want to know what it means, but I am afraid to ask.” he ends on a whispering note. Praia is standing frozen in place, her eyes wide. I look at her and she all but runs into the back, I feel a tinge of remorse deep in my stomach.

“You can ask me anything Peeta, anytime.” I say in a soft voice, taking a carefully measured step toward him, he retreats a step, almost like we are dancing. “I'm sorry for it Peeta.” I don't have to tell him what it is, he has nightmares about it every night.

“ What's done is done.” after a moment he adds “Would you like a danish?” he asks in a defeated voice, motioning to the case. “I know you don't want any charity, but-” I touch an index finger to his lips and it silences him immediately.

“I'd love a danish.” I say with a smile, its barely forced. He gives a small smile back, moving back behind the counter and grabbing the pastry, handing it to me shyly. I can't but grin when I take a bite of the flaky crust.

“You like it, real or not real?” he asks his blue eyes hopeful

“Real.” I say matter of factly.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then you'll allow it?” I ask hopefully, wondering if he remembers a time when we were sure we were going to die, and he asked me the same thing.

I awaken to soft sunlight painted a muted gray by the winter clouds. I lay in bed for a long time, my face hidden beneath a threadbare quilt that my mother had stitched long before I was born. Today it's been one year since the war ended, since the city circle was engulfed in flames, taking my sister, turning her to charred ash. I can hear soft footfalls, a creak of a floorboard from somewhere below me. Effie, probably or Haymitch, maybe Sae, but I can't bring myself to care. 

In the tired light from my hiding space I trace the scars on my arms, most still the bright, piglet pink, though some have faded to white, some almost back to the olive tan of my normal skin. I trace them over and over with my fingernail, scratching harder and harder until blood begins to bubble in spots. It seems so unfair I escaped with my skin mostly intact when my sister exploded in flames, gone before I could reach her.

There is a soft knock at the door that I ignore, I lift my knees to my chest and bury my face in them, wishing my visitor away. They push the door open and I shut my eyes tight, covering my ears with my hands. They can say nothing, do nothing to comfort me today. Its best they leave me be.

“Katniss, darling?” Effie's voice trills and I let out a moan of frustration.

“Go away.” I whisper, its so tiny she doesn't hear it. I feel the weight of her next to me on the bed, and then her hand finds my shoulder as she pulls the quilt down gently. 

“Come now, child.” she says in a voice so unlike her old one I can't help but open my eyes to take her in. While she still wears the lilac wig, her face is free of any makeup. Her features are almost pretty, the slope of her nose is gentle and her eyes are a vivid blue. I had never noticed underneath the miles of eyeliner and shadow. Her lips have a natural pinkness to them that I can't help but envy. There are traces of crows feet at the corners of her eyes, showing her age. “Come on now, Katniss, up.” she says. I sit up and rub my eyes.

“I like you make-up free, Effie.” I say before I can stop myself. If she thinks it's rude she doesn't say anything, she just pats my chin.

“Its a big, big, big day.” she says unenthusiastically, staring at a spot in the floor. 

After I am dressed and have eaten a bowl of porridge Effie informs me that I must be back by three and the ceremony starts at seven. I roll my eyes at her as I grab my bow and quiver by the door, but she blocks my path until I promise. 

Outside the world is quiet, quieter than I would like. People have their shutters pulled tight, town seems dark and empty, everyone in mourning behind locked doors. I struggle when I reach the fence, forcing my eyes forward as opposed to downward, the churned earth underneath the frozen snow is too dark, the smell is to rich. I am nearly to the lake before I find a sturdy tree to climb. I make it halfway up before the tears pouring from me become troublesome and I have to stop. 

I'm not sure how long I stay up there, crumpled under the weight of my grief, thinking only of Primroses and duck tails. The look on her face as her lips were forming my name. I let out a wail at the thought, the noise coming out of my throat sounds so primal, so plaintive, it scares me. A mockingjay perches near me and cocks its small head before picking up the sound. I nock an arrow and shoot at it, but tears are pouring down my face, and I am shaking so bad that my arrow veers to the left of it. 

“Why her!” I scream into the woods, all that follows is a silence that makes me sick. “It should have been me.” I say into the fog and wind, my voice hoarse and broken.

Finally, I force myself to dry my eyes with the sleeve of my thermal shirt and clear my throat. I almost go fetch my arrow, my crying has taken much of my precious energy and my legs wobble beneath me. I give that arrow to the woods, today I couldn't care less.

Its almost two by the time I make it under the fence. I am huffing and my hands are shaking. A train is parked at the station and it gathers my attention as we aren't due one for another week. A few people are just climbing out, a few are standing around stretching their limbs. I edge around the platform, when a shock of dark hair catches my eye. 

“Gale?” I croak in a small voice, begging my feet not to run. He turns and I let out a sigh of relief.

“Rory!” I fill in the distance between us and crush him to me. He pats my back awkwardly and I release him, pushing his hair from his forehead in a motherly gesture.

“Katniss.” he whispers and looks with alarm to the train as his brother steps off, his arms full of little Posy, who clutches his shoulders tightly. Her silver eyes blinking sleepily. 

“Shit.” I mutter before I turn on my heel and run before I can do something stupid, like cry.

I can feel his burning gaze as I run all the way home. As soon as I get through the door I slump to the floor in exhaustion. My chest is heaving and I have tears pouring down my face. 

Effie is coming down the stairs, seemingly pleased that I am on time for once, but stops short when she sees me. I try to say something, anything, but I let out a whimper instead. She comes down the stairs in carefully measured steps and gathers me in her arms. 

“Oh, sweet girl.” she murmurs into my hair, she struggles to wipe the tears from my face. I finally take a heaving breath and stand, swallowing thickly against the lump in my throat.

“Well.” she says, straightening her dress and cupping her hands against my chin. “Crying does nothing for your complexion dear.” After a small beat she demands me upstairs to a waiting bath. 

Effie brushes out my hair as I stare at my body in the mirror. She rubs my scars in a heavy cream that smells like strawberries. She etches out my features in minimal makeup. As she is finishing my lipstick I brave a question. “Aren't you going to hide my scars?” its meant to sound nonchalant, like I don't care, but my voice is tiny and laced with a self conscious tone. She pulls out a strapless black dress that falls to my ankles and hands it to me, holding me steady as I step into it. I almost think that she is going to let my question hang there in the air, but after a moment she sighs.

“No, let them see.” she says in a confidant tone “Let them all see what you survived.” She meets my eyes in the mirror for a flickering moment before she shoos me out so she can get ready.

I stare at myself in the window for a long time, drinking in my face, almost lovely in the dying sunshine. My eyes glint silver against the chocolate eye shadow. My lips have a fullness they don't normally, other than that, I look like me. I allow myself a peek at my scars still bright against my normal skin, but for the first time since the war they aren't the only thing I see. I'm still too thin, but my curves are beginning to round themselves out. I take in a deep breath and force myself to turn away.

I teeter into the high heels Effie leaves me near the stairs and slip into my coat and fall onto the couch to wait. A rap at the door rouses me from staring at the fire. Haymitch and Peeta are standing bundled against the cold. Haymitch pushes past me and is yelling at Effie to hurry up before I know it. 

“You look nice.” I say to Peeta as he nods hello and steps inside, kicking the snow from his boots. He is in a simple black suit and tie, his hair gelled back, just the slightest hint of stubble on his cheek.

He appraises me for a moment and I wither a little beneath his stare. “You look lovely.” something approaching reverence in the timber of his voice. 

“Thank you.” I say, adjusting the top of my dress slightly. 

“Was it hard today?” he asks in a soft voice, so low no one else would hear. I open my mouth to speak, but Effie is coming down the stairs in a bright pink gown with a spray of gold crystals across the bust. Then Haymitch is herding us out the door on wobbly, drunk legs and I don't have time to answer. 

We all walk in silence together towards the newly erected justice building. Peeta has his hand pressed into my elbow, steadying my rickety steps. “I feel like a baby deer in these shoes.” I whisper to Peeta and he chuckles softly. Haymitch, who has been stumbling ahead of us turns his head and glares at me, eyebrows raised. 

When we reach town I can see it lit up in electricity, people milling around leisurely. The throngs of people seem to part of their own accord for us. A man tips his hat toward me as I pass him, I have to swallow back my tears. I fight the urge to turn on my heels and run. 

I am floored by the sheer amount of people packed into the building, all facing a stage that I am guessing has been built for this occasion. Gale sits in a chair on stage next to a few others I recognize but can't remember their names. He is looking at the floor with hard eyes, a hat in his hands. There is a podium set up with a microphone, where Thom stands, going over a piece of paper in his hands. There are three seats set up for us on the other side.

I take a shaky breath and reach for Peeta, I grip his hand so tight he lets out a small gasp, but he doesn't deny me the comfort, he won't pull away, not today.

“Are you okay?” he asks as we reach the stairs, I turn to look at him, but he is looking past me, to Gale. “Yeah, I think so.” I say, but I grip his hand tighter, if that is even possible.

I find a seat as far away from Gale as I can and focus on counting my breathes to pass the time. I haven't let go of Peeta who finds a seat between Haymitch and I. My breathing is growing more and more shallow as time goes on and the crowd begins to quiet. Thom begins to read from his sheet of paper, before I know it he is introducing Gale. Gale crosses the stage with his head high, greeting Thom with a hug, like the old friends they are. He thanks everyone for attending and the honor of receiving this medal of valor. He explains that the worst of it is over now and looks forward to the hope of future generations living without hunger or fear, how just a few years ago it seemed like such a pipe dream, now real. 

He turns to look at me for a moment, and my breath hitches, I think he might say something to me, in front of the entire district. I try my best to hide my face in my hands. He says nothing else, just turns to take his seat. The metal he wears on his uniform glinting the artifical light. 

They call a few names and then Thom is looking out into the crowd as they slow their clapping. “Ladies and Gentlemen of District Twelve,” he begins, the paper shaking slightly in his hands, washed clean of coal dust. “It is my utmost honor to present to you, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.” The crowd roars drowning out Peeta's last name. He turns to regard us as we stand, hand in hand, and move toward the podium together. 

The crowd takes a few long seconds to settle down, I am watching Peeta as he smiles broadly, waving to the crowd. Where I shrink, he stands straighter. Thom hands us each a box and I struggle to open in, on a bed of dark blue velvet sits a small pewter pin, I slam the box shut tightly with a snap. 

Peeta says everything Gale said, but in a smoother, more elegant way. Saying he looks forward to what the next years will bring, and what an honor it is to be alive in this new age. Finally he is looking at me slyly, asking with his eyes if there is anything I want to add. I clear my throat and look at him, not the crowd when I speak. 

“Thank you for the bread.” it comes out as barely a squeak and he pulls me away as the crowd erupts in applause, in their own way, they are thanking him for the bread as well.

The ceremony ends and people begin to spill out into the square. Only now do I realize this has been televised on the large screens outside, and people had been watching outside when they were forced to shut the doors because they were full to capacity. 

Banquet tables have been set up outside, filled with not capitol food but food from home. Someone has broken out a fiddle and dancing has broken out. Such a stark cry from this morning, I guess that was the time for grieving, now with the entirety of the districts watching, we celebrate the rebirth.

Peeta and I have become separated by the crowd as people move around us to talk to their victors. I see a bar has been set up, I spot Haymitch taking a bottle from a crate, the barkeeper none the wiser. 

I am approaching a buffet table set with rabbit stew and mashed potatoes, a plate of different vegetables, when I get to the wild turkey I have to smile to myself, it isn't one of mine, someone else must have ventured into the woods.

“I hear the turkey is excellent, but my mother cooked it, so I may be a little bias.” a deep voice says behind me and I freeze. 

“Hazelle is back?” I ask turning to meet his stare. He nods taking a drink from a flask, wincing back what smells like white liquor. “This is her home after all.” Its my turn to nod at him. I try to take a step away from him, but my feet won't move. I advert my gaze to the table, picking up a mug of tea but my hand is shaking so bad I am forced to set it back down.

He opens his mouth to say something else but it is drowned out by the screens above the justice building crackling to life. Everyone collectively turns to watch as Commander Paylor, or should I say President Paylor sits in front of a blank white screen, looking smart in a crisp, black dress suit.

“Good Evening, citizens of Panem.” she begins “Today marks one year since the end of the rebellion which saw to the end of a dark, devastating era in our history.” I find my legs and begin to push myself through the people toward the back of the crowd, eager to make myself as small as possible. “Today we remind ourselves of what we lost, but also what we gained, so with not only a heart filled with sorrow, but also hope, we begin a this new era.” She pauses for only a moment, as if she is gathering her thoughts. “We are destroying the arena, so we may begin to heal, to remind ourselves that this can never happen again.” The screen flashes to an arena, the 74th, I have to choke back a sob.

I start and cower as a boom resonates from the TV as sparks flash and stone begins to crumble. I feel a heaviness in my chest lighten as another loud crash thunders. I take a long, shuddering breath in the beat of silence that follows. Then Peeta screams my name as people begin to cheer.

I am back in the games for a moment, flashes of light glare across my memory and I have to choke back sobs as I listen to Peeta screaming. Another clap of explosion, and I am screaming his name, pushing people out of the way. I think I catch Clove's face somewhere in the crowd and have to push it out of the forefront of my mind.

I search around for him desperately, unable to pinpoint his exact location. I am about to dissolve into tears as Thom reaches me, pointing me in the right direction and helping move people out of my way. I find a small circle of people staring at him, but keeping a distance.

He is on his knees in the mud, hands wrapped around his ears, trying to drown out the noises around him as another wave of crashing comes from the television screen. His face is tinged pink, his eyes are shut tight, he screams my name and I am snapped out of my own growing hysteria.

“Enough!” I scream at the crowd that has formed around him. “Move on, Show's over!” I yell at them as I shove them out of my way. I wish I was armed, a few arrows would have done the trick, much, much faster. 

“Alright, Folks, nothing to see.” Thom shouts in an amiable voice and people begin to disassemble as I reach down and touch Peeta's shoulder carefully.

I stroke his hair softly, my fingers catching in the gel. “Its okay Peeta,” I soothe, “Its okay, its not real, its not real, its not real.” I begin to chant over and over again until he begins to unclench his body, until I can reach him. 

Was this how we were suppose to end up? Two victors broken in the mud. Surely not, but slowly his screaming softens to whimpers and his eyes open, bright and vivid against the dark night sky. He falls against me, his head resting on my chest, staining my skin with his tears. 

I am wet and tired and sore, but I clutch to him with every ounce of strength I have left inside of me. “Its not real.” He whispers, picking up my mantra where I have left off. 

“That's right, its not real.” I encourage as Haymitch pushes through the crowd, with what I suspect is a brand new bottle.

“Well,” he says flatly “You two kids sure do know how to liven up a party.” he extends a hand to help me up, I refuse it and stay clamped to Peeta who is still gaining his bearings. I can feel his muscles loosening every second.

Slowly he moves to stand and offers me a hand. We brush ourselves off and look around. It seems the screens have gone black again, someone must have shut them down. Thom and Gale are laughing loudly from the front of the crowd, and I remind myself to thank them later, they've shifted focus from us to them with roughneck war stories.

“Where were you?” I ask Haymitch with an edge in my voice.

He doesn't say anything just raises his eyebrows. I make a noise of disgust in the back of my throat and push him away from us. Holding onto Peeta as we make our way home.

“Please don't leave me.” he whispers in a broken voice when we reach his steps. I move to sit on the steps, patting the space between me and the railing. 

“I wouldn't dream of it.” I answer in an equally small voice as he steps inside and shuts his door without preamble. My eyebrows furrow together with confusion and hurt, I am about to get up and leave when he returns with two blankets and a flask.

He wraps a blanket around my shoulders. “That dress is pretty, but I don't think it is very warm.” he explains draping a blanket around himself and sitting so close to me our knees bump into eachother. He hands me the flask of white liquor. I take a long swig and pass it to him.

“Aren't you going to lecture me about becoming Haymitch?” I ask with a humorless chuckle.

“Not tonight.” he says as he pulls a long drink himself and hands it back to me. We sit together in silence for a while before he slowly leans his head down and rests his forehead against my shoulder, I tousle his hair absentmindedly.

“I saw it all, in a single second, I saw it all.” he says, his voice cracks and for a moment he sounds like the boy that he is.

“I know, I did too.” I try to comfort him but I am shaking all over from the exertion of the day. Its all been too much, for the both of us.

“Maybe I am the shell shocked lunatic.” he says flatly 

“Quit trying to one up me.” I snap back and our eyes meet as we both start to laugh.

“Tell me a story.” he says after a moment.

“Does it have to be happy?” 

“Not particularly.” 

“Okay, um, lets see,” I struggle trying to find a memory finally I sigh. “Do you remember Lessa Valentine?” I ask, she was a merchant girl a year behind us in school, her father was the blacksmith. Her blond hair was always tied up in fancy ribbons. 

“Lessa, sure, I remember her, offered to take me to the slagheap once.” he says in a off hand way.

“No!” I exclaim and he nods, looking almost bashful.

“Well, once I caught her picking on Prim, she was pushing her around and calling her a seam brat, pulling on her pigtails. Prim wasn't crying but I could tell she wanted to. All I saw was red for a moment, I was so angry, I shoved her over into the goat pen and the muck got all over her new dress.” he laughs a deep, belly laugh. I do too at the thought of her spindly legs going over her head and her dress bunching at her waist.

“She smelled like soup.” he says matter of factly, I'm not sure if its the liquor or not but I burst into laughter and he looks at me, trying hard not to smile. “I'm serious,” he says with an edge to his voice “All the time, she smelled like soup.” I am suddenly overcome by an idea, its like a million lights flash in my head at once.

“I'll be right back!” I shout, rushing to my house, leaving a confused Peeta behind on his porch. I quickly grab a piece of envelope and a pencil and scribble my thoughts on it so rushed my handwriting resembles chicken scratch. 

 

I kick off my heels and hike up my skirt waving the paper in his direction as I rewrap myself in the blanket.

He takes the paper eagerly, his face falls for a moment as he reads it. “Lessa Valentine was the blacksmith's daughter, she smelled like soup.” he reads out loud in a monotone voice. “Katniss?” 

“They don't have to be forgotten! We can write about it... We can write about all of them.” A trace of a smile ghosts my lips. “You can sketch out pictures maybe, we could have a page for everyone, my father, your father, Finnick, Rue.” my voice catches on the last one. “Prim.” 

“That's a wonderful idea Kat, let's just make them a little nicer than Lessa Valentine smelled like soup.” despite the fact I feel like I might cry, I laugh.

“Agreed.” 

“We could also leave out the part about the slagheap.” 

We watch the smoke rising from chimneys across the district for a long time before Peeta scrubs his face with his hand and announces its bedtime. I look around, all of the tentative laughter comes out of me in a rush and I feel hollow and fresh, like right after a sobbing fit. 

“Would you like to come in?” Peeta asks, catching my hesitation. I nod and take his hand and he leads me to the couch. Almost instantly I feel my eyelids growing heavy. I take off my coat as he goes upstairs. He comes down sometime later changed into flannel sleep pants and a cotton tee shirt, holds out the same for me.

I think he expects me to leave and change in the comfort of a bedroom, or the bathroom maybe but I turn and offer him my back. “Could you unzip this for me?” I ask in a soft voice.

He does as he is asked and his eyes go wide as I let the dress fall to the floor. “Uh, Katniss?” I turn to face him, his eyes never breaking eye contact with mine. He swallows wetly and his face turns beet red. I slip the pants on and roll up the waist until it fits. I raise my arms and slip the shirt on over my bare chest. He moves to the hearth and stokes the fire, deep in thought.

“You confuse me.” he states, turning to stare me down. I shrink to a sitting position on the floor. He goes to the cupboard and pulls blankets and pillows making a bed on the floor. 

“I'm sorry.” The bravery that the alcohol gave me has gone out of me. 

“Don't apologize.” he pats the pillow next to him and I crawl beneath the blanket, letting the fire warm my frozen toes. We are close, close enough I can taste his breath against my lips. We don't touch, however, and I inch my fingers along the floor until I find his hand.

“Is it okay if I hold your hand?” I ask and he chuckles

“I think so.” he says with a voice already heavy with sleep.

“Then you'll allow it?” I ask hopefully, wondering if he remembers a time when we were sure we were going to die, and he asked me the same thing.

“I'll allow it.” he echoes as I shut my eyes against the world. 

When I dream, I dream of Prim, a happy memory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You Cheater!” she exclaims as I lay my cards down and collect the candy from the center of the table.

“Don't be a sore loser Prim.” I state, handing her a peppermint from the pile. Her face lights up as she shoves it her mouth.

Our mother does needlepoint by the fire, her cornflower eyes staring into the flames. “Mama, would you like to play?” Prim asks in a hopeful voice. Our mother starts as if remembering where she is, she looks to the fabric on her lap for a moment before smiling at Prim.

“No, you play with your sister dear, I'll watch.” she says in her small voice. 

“She cheats!” Prim exclaims as I laugh and my mother rolls her eyes.

“Deal, Little Duck.” I motion to the stack of cards in front of us. 

Suddenly she's up and out of her seat. Grabbing my wrist and pulling me to the door. “Look!” she points to the sky where the moon, is full and bathing the white, snow covered ground in silver. Everything is shining like diamonds underneath it. My breath is momentarily caught in my throat. I shake it off quickly.

“I told you in was going to snow, I can smell it.” I smile, brushing her hair back with my fingers. 

“First snow of the year!” she turns and runs outside in her bare feet. Holding out her arms and spinning happily.

“Get back in here, you'll catch your death!” I scold but she sticks her tongue out and lobs a snowball that hits me directly in the chest.

“That's it!” I shout, chasing her through the yard, the only sound for miles is our laughter. People peek out of their houses, some slam there doors, others shake their heads fondly before turning back to the heat of their fires.

I finally catch her against me, her skin icy and purple. We fall into a fresh blanket of snow and for a moment we both lie there, breathless and laughing, staring up at the stars above.

 

“There is the hunter.” Prim points out a cluster of stars. “There is his bow.” I can't help but smile to myself.

“There is the princess.” I point at her and she smiles standing and running back towards the heat of the house. I stay for a moment longer, trying to piece out the hunter, like maybe if I could I would find my father again. It's a nice idea, that he would be watching over us as stars. But this was Prim's specialty. Besides the Northern star, that is the brightest, When I look at the stars, all I see are stars.

I think Prim must be so lucky to be able to look up to the sky and see him. Maybe he is keeping her safe, maybe I don't have to try so hard.


	17. Chapter 17

I wake with a start, my back aching and the dying embers of the fire staring me in the face. Peeta is wound around me, our fingers still clasped together tightly. His face pressed into my hair and his legs tangled with mine. I begin to wind my way out of his grasp and he mumbles something, his calloused hands try to hold me closer. “Peeta.” I whisper and his eyes pop open, the blue of them still startles me after all this time. 

“Sorry.” he says and immediately releases his hold on me. 

“I need to hunt today, I'll be back though.” I promise, he sits up and stretches, running his hands through hair. As I am preparing to stand he surprises me with a soft, chaste kiss on my lips.

“Was that okay?” he asks in a soft, unsure voice. I try to speak but my voice is caught in my throat. Peeta has kissed me a thousand times, a thousand different ways, I am unsure why this one feels so different. Perhaps its the stale morning breath, that I don't mind or the fact that his hair is still mussed with sleep, or his eyes that are still sleepy, have caught me so off guard. I lean into him and catch his lower lip between my own chapped lips, running my tongue between his lips boldly. 

When I come up for air, he smiles at me, his fingers caught in my hair. “I'll see you later.” I say with a shy smile.

“Later then.” he agrees.

I am dressed in my gown from the night before, my hair haphazardly braided and barefoot as I cross the yard toward my house, the only thing on my mind is a hot shower and what I might catch for dinner.

I almost run right into him.

“Gale!” I shout with surprise. He is wringing his hands as he sits on my porch steps.

“Hi, Catnip.” his eyes fail to meet mine. He is dressed in a sharp uniform and clean, new boots. He examines them closely as I take in the deep, purple circles beneath his eyes. 

“I thought we might go hunting, for old times sake.” I sigh, looking up at the gray sky.

“Maybe, you might have some time for a conversation?” he adds

“I guess a conversation couldn't hurt.” I move past him and open the door. He stares at it beyond me. “Would you like to come inside?” I offer but he shakes his head.

“I think I'll wait here.” he looks down at his hands, they shake ever so slightly.

“Suit yourself.” I say, shutting the door behind me.

After I am showered and dressed I step outside, bow and quiver on my shoulder. He stands, towering over me, I had forgotten how tall he was.

“Ready?” I ask as he falls in step with me and we move towards the road. I glance over to Peeta's house, and though I cannot see him I can't help but feel his eyes watching me.

“Not really,” he admits touching a tendril of my hair and tucking it back into place.

We make it past the fence in record time, ignoring the open stares of people in the town square. Once we are among the trees I feel like I can breathe again and we walk in somewhat companionable silence. Its like we have an unspoken agreement, we pass our place that overlooks the valley without a glance its direction. Those people that sat there before the reaping are long dead, buried and mourned. We don't stop until we reach the lake. There we make a home of a boulder that overlooks the silver glint of the water.

“Okay,” I finally say “Have out with it.” 

He laughs, there is a bitter edge to it and it makes me angry. “You always were a wordsmith weren't you Everdeen.”

“If you're going to mock me, I can leave.” I snap and move to stand. His hand clasps against my shoulder and pushes me back down roughly.

“I'm sorry.” He says, his eyes watching the water wistfully. I sigh and reach into my game bag, pulling out an apple and a roll, handing it to him. He stares at it a long time before he pulls a knife from his boot, cutting and coring the apple. 

“I wanted to say.” he starts, handing me a few apple slices. “I wanted to say that- that, I, um, I-”

I let out a frustrated sigh and lean back, more content to stare at the sky than listen to whatever he has to say. His face brings up all of this resentment that I thought I had gotten over, turns out I just hid it from myself.

His next words are a blow in my chest, the last thing I expected him to say. “I want you to know that I try to save her.”

“What!” I snap, my face contorting with anger “Don't you dare-”

“In my dreams, every night, I try to save her.” his bottom lip is quivering and tears are on the verge of falling from his eyes. He face falls into his hands. “I wish that I had saved her.” 

This isn't Gale, I have never seen him cry. He isn't the vulnerable type. I fight the urge to bring him closer to me, to let him rest his head on my shoulder. Even though I fight to remember, He loved Prim too. 

“I'm so sorry.” he whispers brokenly to his hands. I say nothing, I can't move, or breathe, I can't find any hatred either, no fire, not for this broken man sitting next to me. However, I cannot find any remorse for him either, nor any love, he is just a broken man, sitting next to me, haunted by Primroses and fire.

“You know Gale,” I say “I think I was always meant to lose her.” my confession seems stuck like glue in my throat. 

“I don't think any of us could have stopped it, from the time her name was called I was just putting off the inevitable.” I pat his shoulder awkwardly , it feels so forced, it makes me so sad.

“What are you saying Katniss?” I purse my lips together, watching the cold hit the water, sending off wisps of fog. I wrap my fathers jacket around me tighter. I dig my fingernails into my arm, the pain grounding me.

“I'm saying, forgive yourself.” I whisper “I'll try to forgive myself too.” Our eyes meet for a moment and I want to take it back, tell him that he will always be my hunting partner, that I miss him so much. I open my mouth but he shakes his head, as if he can read my mind. 

“I told myself I would never come back here again, that I would never be able to look you in the eyes again.” He whispers, his head bows in shame.

“What changed your mind?” I ask 

“Its time to move on, I suppose.” 

I stand and offer him my hand, he eyes it like its made of glass, like I might shatter if he touches me. “I don't bite.” I say with a roll of my eyes.

“I've seen you bite.” he snaps back but takes my hand. 

For awhile we are hunting partners again, moving silently through the woods together. We find the creek where we used to fish, the strawberry patch that is frozen over. We even make it to our spot and look out at the valley once more, like the old friends we were, we are. 

We don't get much hunting done, but we talk of inconsequential things. His new job that takes him all over the districts. I talk about Peeta and how we seem to be finding our way. He talks about Posy and Vick, and how Rory might attend a school in District 3, turns out Rory has a technical mind. How Hazelle was staying in four, near my mother, but missed home terribly. He asks about Haymitch and Thom. 

“So are you planning on staying in twelve for long?” I ask as we reach the fence. 

“I don't think so.” he says, watching the distant district with closed off eyes. “This place will always be ash to me.” I nod in understanding, “Too many dead here.” I look at him with envy.

“I wish I had that choice.” I bite with venom in my words.

“No you don't.” he says evenly, no hint of malice in his tone. “This is your home.” 

 

Once I reach the Bakery, Gale and I part paths with the promise of dinner with Hazelle before he leaves. I step into the warmth and almost moan with pleasure, I was out longer than I intended and my fingers had gone numb with cold.

Praia is sitting on a stool near the cash register and I am surprised to see Thom leaning against the counter, talking in a hushed tone. She seems to be doing well in ignoring him, and the jingle above the door for some reason, I clear my throat loudly and they both start. Praia turns the color of a tomato and Thom chuckles, eying the hat in his hand before putting it back over his dark, seam hair.

“Afternoon Katniss.” he says with a wink as he steps out of the door with a backwards wave. 

I turn back to Praia and regard her quizzically. “What was that all about?” I ask, my eyebrows furrowed together. She smiles and it brightens her whole face. “Come on.” I say with what I hope resembles a friendly smile. She just shakes her head and looks back towards the door fondly.

“That Thom is a nice man, isn't he?” I look back towards the door, a knowing smile playing at my lips.

“He really is.” I say, removing my coat and hanging it near the door. “Is Peeta in the back?” I ask and she shakes her head. 

“He was taking a loaf of bread to the shopkeepers wife, she's been feeling ill for a while now.” I nod and stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Well,” she says uncertainly “Would you like a cookie?” she offers and I shake my head. 

I take a seat at the nearest table, setting my heavy game bag down and leaning back. She is watching me with those eyes, so like Finnick's that I have to bite back a plea for her to look away from me.

“Praia, are you from District Four?” I ask suddenly and she nods, her hands fidget in her lap. 

“My Father was a fishermen.” she whispers, a far off look in her eye as she gazes at the wall.

“Did you know Finnick?” I ask and she smiles

“No, I can't say that I did, although I knew of him, of course.” I nod and swallow, my eyes falling to the floor. What a stupid question.

“Why did you leave?” I chew on my lips wondering if this is an inappropriate question to ask. She is quiet a long time, I fear she is going to let it hang in the air.

“My Husband died in the rebellion, and I just thought, maybe I was sick of the sea air, maybe I'd get my fill of-”

“Coal dust?” I cut her off, she shakes her head a little sadly. Her lips pressed together in a firm line.

“I was going to say mountain air.” her fingers run the length of the counter in front of her. 

“I'm sorry about your husband.” I blurt, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry he died.” 

“So am I, Katniss, but it was something he believed in, he knew the risk and so did I.” She wavers for a long time, her eyes fluttering around the room, they remind me of a hummingbirds wing.

“Sometimes I pretend he's just outside, going to return any moment and he will scoop me up, like he used to do and kiss me.” She adds after a moment.

“Isn't that like living a lie?” I don't know why the idea makes me angry, I don't mean to, but there is an edge to my voice, her comment makes me think of my mother and those months she was unreachable.

“Yes, I suppose.” she says in an even voice, her eyes find a spot to fix on outside the window, like she is expecting him to return right at this moment. “But it's a lie that I like.” I have nothing to say to that, shame fills me for a moment, who am I to tell this woman how to grieve her husband? I try to remind myself that not all scars are visible, like mine. 

“What was his name?” I ask, she looks at me and smiles.

“Jordan.” She whispers so low, its barely a whisper. “His name was Jordan.”

“That's a good name.” I say, somewhat lamely but she smiles brightly.

“It is isn't it.” she hesitates for a moment before she smiles to herself. “I think Thom might be a good name too.” its so quiet, I don't think she meant for me to hear it.

“It is.” I say, I open my mouth to say something else, but Peeta has walked through the door and is smiling at me. He kisses me boldly and Praia blushes looking back down at her hands. 

“Hello.” he says against my lips and I can't help but smile. 

“Hello.” I repeat as he shakes the snow from his coat. Hanging it up near mine and motioning for me to come to the back with him. I step around the counter letting the heat from the ovens envelop me.

He pulls a large mixing bowl down and starts to measure and stir ingredients as I pull up a stool a sit.

“How was your day?” he asks, stealing another kiss as he coats his fingers in flour.

“It was... tiring.” I say, leaning my head down to rest on the counter. I lay my cheek against the cool wood. “I went hunting with Gale.” I say, my eyes shut tight so I can't see the look on his face.

“I know.” He says after a pregnant pause. “I saw you leaving your house together.” he whispers the last part sheepishly. I look up at him to find he is now kneading dough against the table, his face unreadable.

“Are you upset?” I ask and he shrugs his shoulders.

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous, but it seems you two have a lot to talk about.” he smiles as I sit up. “You have some flour on your cheek.” he sticks his hand out to brush it away but ends up smearing dough across my cheek. “There we go, much better!” he says with a grin. Suddenly I am overcome with an unnamed emotion. Its burning a hole in my stomach, but I don't mind the flames. I feel myself blush and I look down at my hands, covered in scars. He is still grinning at me when I look up at him bashfully.

“Peeta is a good name.” I say looking straight in his eyes. He gives me a lopsided grin, not fully understanding my words.

“So is Katniss.” he says bumping my shoulder with his. 

 

We have barely made it through my door when Buttercup yowls at me to feed him. Peeta sets to work on making dinner as I start cleaning game at the table, chopping up bits of entrails at placing them into his bowl with bloodied fingers. Sae stops in and I am sure to give her three fat rabbits, thanking her for caring for me all these months. She seems taken back by my thank you. She pats my shoulder fondly. “You'd of done the same for any of us, we're Seam, you and me.” she says it softly, for my ears only. I am surprised when she leans in to my ear. “You're Daddy sure would be proud of you.” I step back and nod, and I swear I can smell the coal dust on his hands and the leather of his coat when he would scoop me up into his arms after a day in the mines. I think of Praia's words it's a lie I like.

Haymitch comes to dinner and we share a silent dinner of Rabbit stew and fresh warm sweet rolls. None of us has much to say, but that seems okay, tonight we are all content to listen to the wind howl outside in the flicker of the fire light. 

“Winter is almost over.” Haymitch comments after dinner, standing at the kitchen window, staring past the darkening lawn towards the hillsides that grace the horizon beyond the district. I walk towards the window to lean my head against his shoulder for only a moment. He doesn't say anything, just runs his hands through my hair in a surprisingly tender, fatherly gesture.

“Seems that way.” I comment, not wanting this moment to end, missing my father so much I feel I might collapse under the weight of it. 

“It'll blow itself out before you know it.” he says, taking a drink out of a mug that holds coffee with just a hint of white liquor. He burps and the moment is over. I move to sit next to Peeta, who has cleared the table and holds a package of clean, white parchment in front of him. He sets a mug of warmed milk in front of me. I can't help but notice this small family I have made, little and broken.

“Who's first Katniss?” Peeta asks, holding the pen out to me. I grasp it uncertainly, so many names popping up into my head, I don't know where to start.

“The first Tributes I mentored were Winter Lockings and Sage Whitfield.” Haymitch starts, his voice husky and his eyes far away. “The girl, Winter, she had mud smeared on her cheek when the boy from two stabbed her.” His voice was low, I could barely hear him. “Sage, the boy, froze to death, it was so peaceful, like he was falling asleep...” I am snapped from my reverie as I begin to write feverishly, struggling to keep up. “She liked peppermint tea, if I remember correctly.” 

Suddenly I wonder what Haymitch would be like if he didn't see decades of children die. I wonder what he could have been, what kind of person he would be. I wonder idly if he would smile, a real one, and what that might look like. It breaks my heart in two, so I push it from my mind.

“He was friends with your father, if I remember correctly, sweetheart.” I ignore the comment, tears are already threatening to spill and ruin the ink. 

We stay like this until Haymitch is so drunk Peeta has to help him home. When Peeta returns I am sitting on the sofa with a new mug of warmed milk. He comes to sit next to me and I promptly bury my face in his neck. 

I am kissing him before he can speak, my fingers winding through his hair. We crash against each other in a flurry of hands and teeth and tongues. Fire building in my belly and spreading through my limbs, no matter how close he is to me it isn't close enough to fan the flames. Before I realize what is happening we have fallen to the floor in front of the fire.

“Katniss?” Peeta pulls away and looks at me quizzically, quirking his eyebrows together. 

“Shut up.” I demand flatly, pressing my lips against him firmly.

“Katniss.” he demands, his eyes searching mine. 

For a moment I feel like we are back in the games, my chest heaves and I am frightened, but I remember that Peeta's hair is wound in my fingers and that his lips are swollen with my kisses. The boy in front of me is real, and alive, so am I, we made it, we survived.

“Peeta is a good name.” I say sharply “Understand that I chose you.” he nods. “I want this.” I whisper, and my voice cracks.

“Are you sure?” he asks and I nod, shutting my eyes. He doesn't need to be asked twice, he has flipped us over in one fluid motion and is kissing my neck. And as we moved together and fumbled and laughed, I remembered the time my father taught me to swim. How I was sure I was going to die, and how when he pulled me from beneath the waters skin I felt new, and alive. I sucked in deep lungfuls of summer air, just happy that it was there to breathe.

That's how I feel now.

Our bodies tangle together in a perfect way. Even broken the way they are, we fit together like puzzle pieces. When I come, I feel like Peeta has pulled me from the waters skin and I have risen, new and whole again.

Afterward we lay in the floor a mess of sweat and skin. I am on the cusp of sleep as he plays with the tip of my hair. “You love me?” he asks, trying to mask the insecurity behind it but his voice breaks, ever so slightly. “Real or not real?”

 

I don't pause this time, just bury my face against his chest. “Real.” I whisper. I can feel him smiling as he returns to running his fingers through my hair.

“ I could freeze this moment and live in it forever.” I think I hear him whisper, but it might be a memory, it might be my dream. 

I watch him in the distance, a small child with a mop of yellow hair on his head. I want to keep up with him but I fear my legs are too small. He is catching frogs in an old lily pond my father showed me once and when I finally catch up he shows me with a wide smile. Exposing a missing front tooth.

“Cool!” I say, leaning forward to inspect it. His eyes meet mine and the blue is so familiar, it makes me warm inside. When I smile back at him he looks to the ground shyly. I pull on one of my braids and listen to the sounds of crickets chirp and cicadas buzz around us. “It'll be dark soon.” I am worried, my father should be home soon. He'll be mad I took this boy past the fence without him.

“Don't worry,” the little boy whispers, grasping my hand in his and pulling me forward away from the district and my angry father, away from the fear and the worry of empty plates, away from coal dust and mining explosions, away from a sightless gaze in a chair, away from reapings and trains and arenas, away from firebombs and ducktails. “I'll always protect you.” he promises as we reach the edge of the wood, vast and encompassing around us. I think I could follow this little boy to the ends of the earth, till my final breath and it wouldn't be enough days with him.

I look at him and smile “Always.” I promise back.


	18. Epilogue

Epilogue 

 

Twelve years later.

 

It's a warm spring day, so ordinary, so mundane. Birds were fluttering back and forth between the trees. The Primroses at the side of my home are in full bloom, leaving a soft, sweet scent in the evening air. I spent a good portion of the afternoon sitting on the porch admiring how large the bushes had gotten with a glass of sweet tea in my hand absently touching the growing bump of my stomach, trying to keep the rising terror that flutters in my stomach from reaching my lips. It's a warm spring day, tinged with hope and happiness, that's why I don't expect it in the least. It makes it hurt so much more.

I have a plate of food wrapped up tight for Haymitch, in his older age I try to make sure he eats healthier, I even come by once a week and clean his house, though I am not sure he even notices anymore. His mind just isn't what it used to be. Sometimes when he is so far into his drunken stupors he calls me Jessamine, and I just smile, letting him believe a sweet lie. 

Peeta had wanted to send him away a few years back, help him get sober. Peeta had been worried about his ever-yellowing eyes and skin but I had shrugged him off. “Let the old man be.” I had said “It won't make a difference now.” Peeta was right, as usual, I should have listened to him.

“Haymitch, get up.” I say sitting on the coffee table and setting the plate on my lap. Its a warm day so Peeta and I had made him a salad, he won't be pleased. I wait a few moments before trying to shake him. “Haymitch, get your old ass up.” The bottle that clung in his hand falls to the floor, shattering. 

I am overcome with the smell of the liquor, it gags me. “Haymitch?” I whisper, my throat tightening in a sick way. I touch my fingers to his and it's an odd feeling, he isn't warm like me, but he isn't cold either. I fight the urge to jerk my hand away from his, instead I grasp his fingers tighter, bringing his hand closer. 

I shut my eyes against the slowly darkening day, tears involuntarily pouring down my face. “Goddammit Haymitch.” I whisper “You were suppose to stay alive.” Suddenly I am so angry I could scream, instead, I finger the pearl necklace that Peeta had gotten me so many years ago. I want to run far away into the woods, climb the tallest tree I can find and pretend I am a bird, fluttering up towards the sun without a worry in the world. Unfortunately, this isn't the way the world works, or so I am told.

 

Peeta will come looking for me soon, I want to warn him somehow, but I can't bring myself to leave Haymitch's side. It seems like such a disservice to him, after all the years he never left my side. 

“I can't do this without you.” I say, motioning towards to my stomach, I pause, waiting for a quick witted response that will never come. I shake his arm gently. “Are you listening to me, you old drunk!” I shout “I can't do this!” The silence in the room is tangible, I feel like I could reach out at touch it. “What am I suppose to do?!” I shout the question at his face, so peaceful, he could sleeping. The silence surrounding me seems like an answer in and of itself. Of course it would be his answer.

Stay Alive.

The day we bury him is just as beautiful. Every one in twelve is standing in the meadow under the shade of a willow tree. Peeta is looking handsome in an old suit from our victor days. I wonder if he's thinking of Portia now, as he wears it. I had asked him once what it was like, watching her die. He was quiet a long time before he said such simple words. “She refused to cry out.” An act of simple defiance, he said it reminded him that he wasn't a piece in their games, not anymore. 

Yet it's the little girl in his arms that reminds me now. She looks lovely in her little black dress that Praia made her at the last moment when I realized I didn't have anything proper for her to wear. Praia stands off to the side now, Thom next to her, their hands clasped together tightly. I wonder if she thinks of her husband, dead for years now, I wonder if she still misses him when she awakens in the middle of the night, laying next to Thom, I wonder if it feels like a betrayal. 

“Vi, don't go far.” Peeta tells the little girl as she squirms out of his arms to play. She doesn't understand what's happening, her little mind not realizing he isn't coming back. I touch my stomach when the realization hits me that this little person will never meet Haymitch, it seems like such a shame. I force back the tears as the little girl rushes towards me on little legs, her raven hair flying behind her, so much like mine, yet it curls around her shoulders, reminding me that she is part Peeta too. 

I think about the day I had her, a day filled with blood and terror and ultimately joy. Peeta had kissed my hair, not caring that it was slick with sweat and asked me in a careful voice if I wanted to name her after my sister. 

“No,” I said in a weary voice. “This girl isn't a ghost.” 

I thought of the dress I had bought my sister, a gift after my games, how she had clutched it to her chest so happily. It was the color of a wood violet. “Violet.” I say with certainty and he nods stroking the hair off my forehead. 

“Violet it is then.” She looked up at me then, her eyes so blue, but not the cornflower blue of her father, no it was deeper than that, an ocean all her own, like Prim's. I had forgotten what they looked like after all these years. I was scared of this, that this child would remind me of my ghosts, but instead of crushing me, it lifts me up. Prim was here once, see, she was real after all. 

I whisper my first words to my daughter. Welcome home, ocean eyes.

Peeta comes to stand next to us as they begin to lower the coffin into the dirt. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and I press my face against his chest. He has remained remarkably the same after all these years. His body has aged, sure, but he is still steady, still warm, still the baker's boy, though his father is long dead. He touches my braid, letting it slip through his fingers like water. I haven't worn my hair in a braid in close to ten years. It seemed wrong to wear it any other way today. 

Off in the distance, away from everyone else, stands Effie. Her body has crumpled with age, or maybe defeat. She has made no effort to come and speak to us today, though I catch her eye at one point and see the grief that has pooled around them, I look away quickly. She will be gone on the next train, respects paid to a man she watched die a slow death years ago. Her victors are grown up, she has no need to linger here, her job is now done.

Gale is here too, standing with a brunette, their hands woven together. Two young girls play in the grass near their feet. I haven't seen Gale since he left town after the first ceremony. He offers a wave and I wave back, I have a feeling I'll never see him again, and it's sad but somehow okay. 

I think I see my mother in the crowd, but that is stupid, she died years ago, I wasn't there but I heard from Annie that my father's name was the last words on her lips. I pretend not to be upset that it wasn't mine, or Prim's. I can't stay too angry for long, after all, she only had eyes for him, that was clear. It seems fitting that her last word was “Ash.” that's all we ever were. We never mended properly after Prim, sure we spoke, she even visited once. I was never one to forgive, and she was so quiet, now there are words left between us that will never be spoken, I tell myself that it's okay. Not all stories have easy endings.

Thom begins to read from a sheet of paper and we all turn our attention to him, he doesn't have much to say about Haymitch, none of us really do. I worry the small music box in my fingers. Its the one that my father had gotten Prim, I took to carrying it around with me when I was Pregnant with Violet, the music soothing me. When I heard the small tinkling noise that has worn with age and disuse it's almost like the two of them are here with me. 

A shovel of dirt onto pine and it's over

After Thom finishes speaking, everyone heads towards Praia and Thom's house where they've set up a refreshment table. Its spring and food is plentiful, they've set up sandwiches and lemonade, apple pies and berries that I picked from the forest, mixed with fresh cream, and, of course ale, lots of it. Peeta made a cake, frosted to look like the night sky. Children run in the grass and people mill around aimlessly it seems. 

Peeta and I walk hand in hand in a comfortable silence. Violet is quiet in Peeta's arms, her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes heavy with sleep. People offer their condolences but it doesn't quite reach my ears. I just wind the music box, letting the sound wash over me. 

I watch Praia as she watches Thom and Gale speak, laughing loudly. “Do you think of Jordan?” I ask and she seems startled by his name.

“Of course.” she responds, sipping her lemonade and running a hand through her thick red hair that's beginning to gray.

“Do you ever think about what might have been?” I ask, my voice thick.

“Not much sense in that, now is there?” She responds quietly, touching my shoulder.

“Praia, do you mind watching Violet for awhile?” Peeta asks suddenly, handing the child over before Praia has a chance to answer. She nods and rocks the girl in her arms soothingly. “Come on.” Peeta whispers in my ear, pulling me along the well worn paths towards the woods. 

When we reach the lake he sits me down on a rock. He hands me the memory book and a pen. Also, he has procured a flask from his pocket. I think of the flask filled with Capitol liquor I had slipped into Haymitch's suit pocket before the funeral started. He had better thank me later, I think, that stuff isn't cheap.

 

“What should I write?” I ask Peeta in an unsteady voice. My fingers trembling ever so slightly. He shrugs, watching the sunlight glint off the water for a moment before he leans back, resting his head on one arm, shutting his eyes against the warm sunlight.

“Write anything you want.” he offers, tracing my spine with his finger lazily. 

Haymitch Abernathy, I start in scrawling, shaky letters. 

A mean, old drunk. Tribute, Victor, Ally, Friend, Mentor. Always found me when I wandered too far. 

I look to Peeta and he leans forward to read, he nods in approval. I stare at the picture he pasted in the corner, from a few years ago. While Haymitch looks surly as usual, you can see the toll of the years on him so clearly. “Peeta, we can't let people see him like that.” I say fingering the old photograph. “He wasn't just this.” Peeta nods and takes the book and pen. Slowly he sketches out a young Haymitch from memory. I am amazed he remembers it. When he is done there are two Haymitch's, what he was, and what he became. 

Peeta holds the flask out in front of him, toasting the sunshine. “To Haymitch, A mean, old drunk.” He takes a small sip and passes it to me. I take a small sip and wince, its been years since I've drank anything stronger than tea. Normally, I wouldn't partake, especially with this baby in me, but today it would be wrong not to have a sip.

It's almost dark by the time we return home. I have the book clutched to my chest as if it is my last hope, some days it is. Some days I can't remember my father's eyes or my mother's lips. Some days I think I am losing the memory of my mother handing me strawberries as I hid beneath the table, enveloped in her skirts. Some mornings I can't remember what Finnick's smile looked like or if my sister had freckles on her neck. This book brings me back, holds me here when I am afraid I'll never be able to get out of bed again. 

We get Violet to bed and climb the stairs to our own, happy for this day to be over with. I am ready to climb into bed when Peeta grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. He wraps one hand around my middle, pulling me in close and his other hand captures mine. He begins to pull me in a small circle, to music only he can hear. 

“I love you Katniss Everdeen.” his warm breath tickles my ear, and after all these years it still makes my stomach flutter nervously. 

“I love you too, Peeta Mellark.” I whisper back, resting my head on his broad chest, tangling my free fingers in his shirt. His tie hangs untied, limp around his neck and his jacket is discarded on a chair. 

I think back to the boy in the cave, so many years ago, the memory tainted with time. How I was so sure he was going to die there in the rain and cold, how I am so happy he didn't. I wrap him into a hug that he eagerly returns. After a long time I turn my head, I think I see my sister in my reflection in the window, I shut my eyes because she was smiling. I like to think she is happy for me, wherever she is, maybe she is happy too, its all I can hope. 

And when I fall asleep to the steady beat of Peeta's heart beneath my ear, I dream of her.

We stand hand in hand at the train platform, waiting, always waiting, somehow, I don't mind. Her hand has a weight in mine that I like. I can smell the soap my mother would make on her skin. I am young again, sixteen and strong, yet my hair is in two braids, like Prim's. She wears her reaping clothes, her duck tail sticking out.

“Tuck in your tail, duck.” I say and she smiles at me, it brings out the dimple on her cheek. She wraps her arm around my middle and clutches me to her, as if it's me that will disappear, but she's the one that's dead. Even in my dream I know that.

“Quack!” she says and giggles, its enough to crumple my heart and contort my face with tears“Its okay.” she soothes, touching my cheek. The train has arrived soundlessly and I think I see my father through one of the windows, I turn away quickly. 

“I miss you everyday.” I say to her, my voice thick with tears. I fear I will dissolve right here in front of her. 

“Thank you.” she whispers, a wisp of hair falling into her eyes.

“For what?” I ask, suddenly afraid, although I am not sure why .I shut my eyes knowing what's coming next.

She doesn't answer and slowly I open my eyes, She's gone, already on the train as it moves out of the station soundlessly, moving toward its destination and away from me. I know she won't be back this time

Even after all these years, her ghost haunts me, but its easier now, maybe because I have made myself a new game to play. I list off every good thing I have seen someone do. I still think of her, everyday, I can't help it. I mark a tree every year that she's been gone, the way I once marked her birthday on the calendar. Some days it hits me like a brick in the chest. If she were still alive, she'd be grown with a family of her own. 

I feel so tired, like I have walked for miles, but despite my weariness, I smile because I have survived, I am here, still alive, I survived. I am here with Peeta and he is so beautiful as he smiles into my hair. 

Sometimes, I talk to her. Its my own little secret, when I am in the woods I sit and speak with my long dead sister, and it might be a lie, maybe she can't hear me at all. But it is a lie that I like. I ask her if it was worth it, the war, the rebellion, the starvation, the loss. All I have to do is open the locket that Peeta got me when Violet was first born with her picture in it, all I have to do is touch my growing stomach and somehow I know that it was, that with every loss there is gain.

 

Fin .


End file.
